


Rend

by Lhugy_for_short



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Dubcon and Noncon elements, M/M, Prostitution, Strippers & Strip Clubs, mostly angst, traumatic past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-01-21 07:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 37,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12452367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lhugy_for_short/pseuds/Lhugy_for_short
Summary: Aidan is a wreck. It's been three years since he started dancing at the Raven, an underground night-turned-strip club with an unfavorable reputation. The Raven also happens to be the city's only distributor ofRend, a designer drug more powerful - and more addictive - than heroin. Now, with his life spiraling out of control, Aidan has given up hope of ever leaving the underworld behind,At least until an unexpected new friend offers him a second chance. Whether or not he takes it is up to Aidan - as well as his boss, who never did learn how to share his toys.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooooo I starting writing this story years and years ago before I really know much about writing. Aidan and Símon came to life for me in a big way, and I couldn't resist the urge to see their story through to the end. Recently I've been giving the entire thing a major overhaul (including the title, which used to be "Starcrossed Lovers" lol) and adding new characters, fixing the wording, and just generally getting it up to speed. A few super nice friends on Tumblr encouraged me to share...so here we are! Please let me know what you think ;3;
> 
> Also, Símon's name is pronounced _see-moan_ (like the feminine "Simone" but Italian - note the accent over the 'I'), and his nickname 'Ze' is pronounced _zee_. His last name Accieto is pronounced _ay-see-eh-to_ ;D

******Aidan**

Aidan could no longer remember where his life had gone wrong.

The syringe rolled out of his limp fingers, its echo as it clattered to the floor the only sound in the small, one-room apartment he shared with the shadows. A sliver of moonlight miraculously filtered its way through a single window, drawing a path of pale blue light across the wood floor. It seemed to illuminate the sorry state of Aidan's life: the thin blankets in the corner that served as his bed; the untouched cheeseburger some grimy client had offered him that night; the empty needles strewn carelessly about.

It was, in a word, pathetic.  

Aidan was suddenly aware that he was crying. Not the sobbing cries of a person feeling ashamed and sorry for himself, but the silent, burning tears of someone tired of being alive. He had finally reached the point where he didn't care whether he woke up in the morning, wouldn't have minded if the poison coursing through his blood decided to kill him that night. He was just tired, so tired.

Moving his muscles against their will, he managed to crawl over to his meager bed. He let his weak body collapse on top of the sheets, not even bothering to cover himself from the biting wind seeping through a crack in one of the window panes. It didn't matter - the drugs wouldn't let him feel the cold anyway. As his vision began to blur and the dark room around him faded, a single, hoarse word escaped his lips.

" _Please_...."

  
**Símon**

Something wasn’t quite right, but Símon couldn’t seem to put his finger on the problem this time.

He’d been working on this project for nearly three weeks now, building the pieces and connecting the wires with painstaking care. Even now, after hours when the staff and his professors had already left for the night, he’d stayed behind making sure every component was properly soldered and perfectly designed.

At least, he’d _thought_ everything was perfect. Yet the results didn’t lie: as soon as he flipped the switch on his machine, the fan whirred to life, the motors clicked and spun....and that was all. No lights, no movement. Nothing else happened. Had he overlooked a step somewhere along the way? Was there a crucial piece he’d neglected to install?

With a groan, he sank back onto the hard, plastic stool behind him and rubbed his eyes, The project was due first thing the next week, and if he couldn’t solve the problem by then….

“Hey, there, brainiac. Still at it, I see?”

Wendy offered a sympathetic smile as she strode into the otherwise-empty lab and caught sight of her friend at a table in the center. Swiftly pulling up a stool beside him, she pressed something warm against his forearm. “Thought maybe you could use a pick me up.”

The sudden acrid-sweet aroma of a double shot cappuccino instantly brightened his mood, and he forced his eyes open as he answered in a voice tinged by his subtle Venetian accent. “Yeah, definitely. Thanks.”

She brushed a few strands of dark hair out of her face and nodded. “Anytime. So what’s the problem with this hunk of junk now?” she asked, brown eyes sweeping over the complicated contraption laid out on the table before them. Though Símon had explained it to her a dozen times, even she still couldn’t quite grasp the mechanics - or the purpose - behind the thing. Which, given that she had been the State Science Fair Champion back home for eight straight years in a row, really said something about her friend’s knack in the field.

A sputtering sound at her side broke through her thoughts. She turned just in time to see Símon blink his eyes - one blue, one green, - before swallowing down a painful-looking gulp of too-hot coffee. She laughed. “Sorry. Guess I should have warned you.”

It took Símon a few more seconds to find his voice again, but when he did he merely gave a strained laugh. “Nah. You know me, I prefer to learn the hard way.” Carefully, he set the steaming cup off to one side of the table before turning his focus back to the question at hand. “To be honest,” he said, reaching forward to once more flip the switch on his ‘hunk of junk.’ Just as before, it whirred to half-life, and stopped.  “I have absolutely no idea why it isn’t working.”

“That’s a first,” Wendy mused as she leaned forward to get a better look. With so many  interconnected parts, there could be any infinite number of possible problems and no way of even knowing where to start. She did _not_ envy her friend this time.“Wish I could help, but you’re the only person I know who’s smarter than me. If anyone can fix this thing, Ze, it’s you.”

“I guess,” he said, releasing a sigh. “At least there are still a few more days until the deadline, right?”

“That’s the spirit!” Clapping him on the shoulder, Wendy all-but forgot the project entirely as she whirled on her stool to face him. From her position on Ze’s right, she could see only his green eye as he once more stared forward at the machine in concentration. His thick waves of short, black hair fell messily around his face, but the effect was more endearing than comical, and contrasted well against the light bronze of his skin. There was no denying he had a certain charm about him, and the fact that he’d never learned to see it in himself made him all the more genuine.   

She had first met Ze during both of their second semesters as freshman at Auburn Crest University, in an exceptionally difficult Applied Chemistry course. Both were headstrong and dedicated to their studies, and after an initial streak of healthy competition had discovered they made a much better team than they did rivals. They worked well together, and for the first time Wendy had found someone worth opening up to.

And, more than anything else, Símon had given her a reason to occasionally take her mind off of school and focus on the other important things in life - even if doing so was mostly out of concern for him. She smiled and feigned a sigh.“Now if only you were as determined to find a date as you are about fixing this P.O.S.”

As expected, Ze’s eyes widened and a familiar red tint flushed over his cheeks, “T-that’s not fair,” he complained, trying and failing to hide his blush. “You didn’t even give me a warning that time!”

She grinned as he prodded a finger into his arm. “Come on, you know I’m not letting this go. The Crest Ball is less than a month away, and you haven’t even considered asking anyone, have you?”

“Well, no, but….” Símon made a face as he trailed off. “I’ve been busy. And I’m honestly not interested, anyway.”

“Not interested my _ass_ ,” Wendy countered expertly. “You’re sweet, you’re smart, and you’re cute to top it all off. You should be out getting laid every weekend, having a little fun, not cooped up in this lab like a mad scientist.”

Looking wounded, Ze gestured to his project on the table. “This _is_ fun, thank you. Besides, if you’re so worried about me going alone to the dance, why don’t _you_ just go with me?”

Wendy didn’t bother to hide her smirk. “Maybe I would if I was actually your type. Besides, I already have a boyfriend, now I’m trying to find one for you.” Leaning back as far as she dared on the stool, Wendy tapped a finger against her bottom lip as she thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, my sister works with this really cute guy - um, Charlie I think? You might really like him. I bet I could set you guys up for coffee or something.”

Ze cut her off with a shake of his head. “Oh, no. I’m not letting you talk me into another ridiculous blind date, not after the last time.”

A knowing cringe. “Okay, so Jake was a fluke. I already said I’m sorry about that one. But that doesn’t mean you can’t at least give Chester a chance.”

“I thought his name was Charlie.”

“Hah!” she grinned, victorious. “I _knew_ you were interested.” Slipping off the stool, Wendy wrapped her arms around Símon and hugged him as tight as she could. “You won’t regret this one, I promise. Have a little faith.” He didn’t, of course, but never had the chance to say so as Wendy, catching sight of her watch, gave a short gasp. “Oh, shit, it’s almost ten. You planning to stay here all night, ‘cause some of us have angry cats to feed.”

Relieved at the sudden change in topic, Ze allowed a small smile as his friend pulled away. “Not much longer. Go on without me, I’d hate to be responsible for any ‘accidents’ with your furniture.”

Wendy nodded knowingly as she fished her car keys out of her coat pocket. “Just promise me you’ll get some beauty sleep eventually.” Then, stepping past him on her way to the door, she cast a playful glance back over her shoulder. “You’re free Friday night, aren’t you?” Wordlessly, eyes already back on his physics project, he shot her a tentative thumbs up. Her smile widened. “Perfect. Night, Ze.”

“Good night.”

A moment later, once the doors had clicked shut behind her and Símon found himself once more alone in the empty lab, he released a long-suffering sigh and slumped against the table. He knew, of course, that Wendy meant well, all of his friends did. But he wished they would try to see things from his point of view, too, sometimes. True, he wasn’t dead inside, and he certainly didn’t want to spend the rest of his life alone, but he didn’t think love was something that ought to be rushed. If and when he found the right person, he would know. Until then….

Raising his gaze enough to look up at the towering mass of panels and wires in front of him, Símon couldn’t help but let out another groan. There was no way he was going to be able to concentrate on this anymore tonight. Maybe if he just went home and got a little sleep, he could figure things out in the morning.

Grabbing his bag off the floor and his coat from the hook on the wall, Ze chugged down his now-cooled cappuccino as he switched off the lights and stepped out into the cold February air.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half-awake, head pounding, Aidan decides that going to work early is a far more appealing idea than sitting around his shitty apartment, especially when he's all out of Rend.  
> Símon gets an unusual invitation from his best friends, and one which might just save him from yet another horrible blind date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're here, that means you must have survived Chapter 1! Awesome! More character development coming up, as well as a little insight into Aidan's past.

******Aidan**

The cold cheeseburger Aidan found on his floor next to his bed when he woke served as his breakfast. He couldn't remember how it had gotten there, or even if he liked cheeseburgers, but it was food and he was starving. He managed to stomach half of it without throwing up, and decided it would be best to save the other half for later. After all, chances were that he wouldn't have anything else to eat for a couple more days, until one of the men at work offered him something because he ‘looked thin.’ Not that he minded his lithe frame, of course. It seemed that his audience actually preferred him skinny and pale. As did his extra clients. 

In actuality, he was paid fairly decently at his work,  an underground nightclub called The Raven. Sixty bucks a night, five nights a week, and all he had to do was take off his clothes and grind against a pole in front of a room full of horny men. It had started off simply enough. He’d almost even enjoyed all the attention in the beginning, but the romance of the spotlight had quickly worn off as his life had continued to spiral out of control. 

There wasn’t any one particular moment he could single out as the tipping point because the change had come gradually, a combination of his own mistakes and his blindness to the toll the nightlife had taken on him. 

And then there was  _ Rend _ . It was what had drawn Aidan to the Raven in the first place, back when he was still a teenage runaway living on the streets. A designer drug with the look and feel of heroin, as versatile as it was potent, and only available at one place. Already a junkie, just a single hit of Rend was enough to get Aidan hooked in a bad way. Before long, half of his pay was going right back to his boss, and he found himself struggling to keep up with both his drug habits and his rent. 

Until, that was, an unlikely solution had presented itself one night in the club’s back parking lot. 

That night about a year earlier, as he had stepped outside to have a cigarette at the end of one of his performances, a man had approached him out of the thick shadows. With a nervous smile he’d introduced himself, and Aidan, desperate for any escape he could find, hadn’t even bothered to resist. Pressed up against the dark wall of the club, pants loose around his pale thighs, he’d given himself over to the roughness of the man’s sex until he lost the ability to think, to feel, to care. But Aidan hadn’t been the only one with selfish motives that night. After they’d fucked, the man had pressed a crisp fifty dollar bill into his palm and walked away, repaying Aidan for his warm body with cold, hard cash. 

Whenever Aidan thought back to that night -- nervous hands fumbling with the front of his pants, fingers running through his jet black locks, mouth hungrily sucking on smooth skin as the man whose name he could no longer remember entered him again and again -- he wanted to throw up. It hadn't seemed like such a bad idea at the time, but the fifty dollars was long since gone, and all he was left with was the haunting memory of the night he’d begun his life of whoring. 

No. He wasn't a whore. He still had enough dignity left to allow himself that much.

He ran his fingers back through his long, black hair, sighing into the emptiness. His head was pounding: the reason, he assumed, being the handful of empty syringes littering his bare floor.  _ Shit _ . That batch was supposed to have lasted him the rest of the week, and he had apparently used it up in a total of three nights. To complicate the matter, he was already starting to crash. He'd need another hit of Rend before the night was over or he'd probably pass out on stage again. If he were lucky, one of the other dancers at the Raven would have something on them that night.

Aidan managed to drag himself to his feet despite the throbbing ache behind his eyes and stumbled to the door. His vision blurred slightly around the edges, but he finally managed to flip the small lock and swayed into the hall of the cheap, run-down apartment building. On his way down the stairs, he passed a man asleep against the wall, liquor bottle still half full in his hand. Aidan hesitated for a moment, checked to see if the man was still breathing, then picked up the bottle. It might at least hold him until he got to work.

He frowned down at the unconscious man, then turned and continued toward the doors and out onto the narrow, cracked sidewalk, stolen drink in hand. 

  
  


**Símon**

Símon leaned back against a large tree in the university's main courtyard, plopping his stack of textbooks unceremoniously next to him in the grass. "I don't know why I bothered to take biology this semester. The class is a complete waste of time."

Erin sat down next to him, nodding softly in agreement as he let his pack slide off his shoulder. "Exactly, I doubt the professor could tell the difference between an amoeba and a paramecium if one bit him right on the rear end." Younger than Símon by barely a month, Erin's soft, brown hair, bright, green eyes, and usually passive temperament made him possibly the cutest boy on the entire campus by anyone’s standards. He was, however, already quite taken.

"Honestly, just because the two of you are, like, geniuses or something," Jon sighed, glancing up from the sheets of calculus formulas spread out in his lap. Erin gave him an affectionate smile and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“Jon, I've offered to help you multiple times," he laughed, gently taking one of the papers to examine it. Símon watched his friends fondly out of the corner of his eye. The two had been inseparable since high school, and the Italian had been there to see their relationship blossom and grow over the years into something far deeper than mere teenage hormones. They were in love, which at times meant being absolute pains in the ass. 

"Calculus isn’t difficult once you know what you’re looking at,” Erin was saying, apparently not noticing the way Jon’s eyes were already rolling. “See, here's your problem.... You just have to move this coefficient to the other side of th --"

"No time for that," Jon suddenly interrupted, catching a glimpse of his watch and slamming his textbook closed. "We've gotta get ready for work!"

Símon looked up with a sudden and renewed interest. "Work? Since when do you have the ability to hold a job?" 

"Since it involves me getting paid to grope Erin's chest while we make out on a counter twice a week." 

Ignoring the way Erin was suddenly burying his face in his hands in sheer embarrassment, Símon’s smile widened. "You’ve got to be kidding me. Who in their right mind would pay you for something like that?" 

"A gay club," Jon grinned. 

"Jon!" came Erin’s panicked gasp. He clutched his bag against his chest and flicked his gaze around at the dozen or so other students milling about the courtyard. No one was even looking their way, but that didn’t seem to comfort him in the least. "You shouldn't say that so loud."

An affectionate smile and then Jon had his arms around the smaller man in a gentle hug. "It's fine. Ze doesn’t care, does he?"

Símon shrugged and shook his head. "No, I’m just a bit shocked is all.  _ You  _ I could understand, but a nightclub is the last place I'd ever expect to find Erin." Blushing faintly, Erin turned slightly to glance once more at his friend. 

"Well, it's not a bad job, really. And we do need the money. After all, Father is still refusing to help pay for my tuition." This elicited a snarl from his boyfriend. 

"Selfish prick."

"Jon...."

Símon felt the need to change the subject, and fast, "So, where exactly is this club of yours, anyway?"

Jon’s face brightened instantly. "A place called The Raven, down near the harbor. Hey!" he grinned as a sudden idea struck him, and he clapped a hand on the Italian's shoulder from around Erin’s frame. "Why don't you come with us tonight?"

Símon and Erin gaped in unison. "What?!"

"Just to check the place out, I mean," he added carefully. "I think you'd have a great time. Some of the dancers are pretty hot, you know."

"Uh, I think I’ll pass," Símon said quickly, frowning. "I don't think I'm really the type to be seen in a place like that. Besides," he added in a noticeably strained voice. “Wendy’s got me meeting one of her eligible bachelors again tonight.” 

Both of his friends stared at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second head. He knew exactly what they were thinking, and he sighed as he waited for the inevitable protests. 

“Símon, you can’t be serious,” Erin scolded right on cue in a surprisingly parental tone. “After everything that happened last time?”

“Jake was a total dick,” Jon clarified. Of the two, he had neither the tact nor the patience for sensitivity. “How do you know this guy won’t be the same?” 

There was nothing he could say to that, so he simply shrugged his answer. “It’ll be fine, I’ll be more careful this time. Promise,” he added in response to their suspicious frowns. “It’s just coffee, after all. And hey, if it ends up being a total disaster, I’ll catch up with you at the club, instead.”

The compromise was evidently acceptable enough to prevent further argument, but Jon insisted on setting the address to the place in Ze’s phone before they finally parted ways. For Ze’s part, he hoped he wouldn’t need it, but was equally as pessimistic about the prospects of his looming date. And there was still the matter of his unfinished project waiting for him in the science lab. With a sigh, he waved goodbye to his friends as he headed in the opposite direction toward the parking lot.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ze is pretty sure this date is the worst one Wendy's set up for him yet. At least he's got a bail-out plan, and heck, he's sure to have more fun at a nightclub. What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot could go wrong!  
> Or very, very right ;D
> 
> Alternative title: "Símon falls in love with a stripper"

******Símon**

The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness as Símon glanced down for the dozenth time at the phone in his lap. 

Normally, he wouldn’t have even considered taking the thing out of his bag, especially not on a first date, but it seemed that the man across the table from him - his name was indeed Chester, not Charlie - hardly noticed. After all, he’d been absorbed in his own phone for the last fifteen minutes, only looking up to smile or make light conversation between texts. It was infuriating, and Símon was desperate for an escape.  _ Save me! _ had been his last of a series of urgent messages to Jon, and he was now anxiously waiting his reply. 

“So, you’re a student, right?” Chester asked off-handedly, and Ze felt himself shrink back in the chair. “How old are you?” 

“Nineteen. I’ll be twenty next month.” Another glance at his phone - still nothing.

“That’s cool, I guess.”

“Yeah. Um, you?”

The man’s pale green eyes weren’t looking at him. “Hm, what’s that?” 

Ze clenched his fists tight in his lap. Wendy was going to get an earful after this! “Nothing, I was just talking to myself.” When there was no response from across the table, Ze dejectedly cast his gaze back down - and was rewarded with a sudden flash of letters across his screen.  _ Bail, bail! Plan B! _ they read. Finally! Símon smiled for the first time since he’d sat down at the cozy coffee shop table and cleared his throat. “Hey, sorry, uh, Chester. Actually, I kinda promised some friends I’d meet up with them tonight. I should probably get going.” 

Chester smiled even as he typed something on his own screen. “Oh, right, cool. That’s cool. So call me, yeah?” 

Símon was already getting to his feet, slipping a few bills under his coffee cup. The urge to fling the porcelain at the other man’s face was sorely tempting, but since he liked this place and didn’t want to have to pay for the broken dishes, he somehow managed to refrain. “Don’t count on it,” he muttered, and dashed out of the shop before his date even registered his words. 

  
  


**Aidan**

He slammed the door shut behind him, not caring who might have been standing outside waiting to use the stall. The moment the lock was securely in place, he fell back against hard steel and took in a slow, shuddering breath.

This was turning into an absolute nightmare. It was Friday night, which meant the Raven was far more packed than usual. Even from the restroom, Aidan could hear the din of the crowd rising over the booming bass. Hundreds of bodies, hundreds of pairs of eyes threatening to turn his already-rebellious stomach on end. And there was the other problem: every part of him  _ hurt _ , from his head to his limbs to his chest, and he knew he’d gone too far this time. Too many drugs or not enough - either way, he was paying the price for his carelessness now, He knew he could hardly perform in this state, but what choice did he really have? The show had to go on, and he only had to be there in body if not entirely in mind. 

The fist he held clamped at his side was shaking visibly, and it took considerable effort to peel his fingers back one by one to reveal the small, white objects clasped in his palm. Two pills. Two  _ fucking  _ pills was all he’d managed to get his hands on, and the dancer he’d bummed them from hadn’t even known what they were. Uppers? Downers? Did it really even matter at this point? They’d make a poor substitute for Rend, which would have taken his mind far away from the lights and music and jeering crowds, yet the tiny pills were better than nothing. His body just needed a chemical fix, something to hold him together long enough to dance.

Fighting another wave of nausea, he popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them down dry. They could take seconds to kick in, or minutes, but he didn’t have time to wait here in this dirty stall until they did. He took another breath, flipped the lock open and slipped out past the heavy door. He ignored the handful of other men in the bathroom as he hurried passed the sinks, stopping only briefly to catch sight of himself in the large mirrors paneling the wall - pale face heavy with shadows, his bright eyes feverish and unfocused even in the dim light - before bolting out to the main dance floor and eventually backstage.

This wasn’t the first time he wondered if this might be his last show - but now, the thought was actually a relief. 

 

**Símon**

The Raven wasn’t much to look at from the outside. Plain, black stucco walls, few windows, and a cracked sidewalk that passed in front of the simple exterior did little to help it stand out from the rest of the block. Like many of the other old buildings that lined the streets leading up to the harbor, it seemed dark, run-down, an unlikely place for a thriving business. The only indication that the building was, in fact, in use was the faded painting of a black raven on the front door, the club’s sole attempt at subtle advertising. 

It was in front of this door that Símon’s car pulled up now. The Italian took one look at the dark building, then glanced once more at his phone to double check the map Jon had sent him.  _ This _ was the place? It certainly wasn’t how he’d imagined a popular nightclub to look, but he knew as well as most that appearances could only mean so much. There was only one way to be sure. 

He found the parking lot around the back of the building. As he locked his car behind him, he sent a message to his friends that he was on his way in, then pocketed his phone as he made for the front entrance again. This time, as he neared the painting of the black bird on the door, he began to feel rather than hear the thrumming of music coming from the other side, vibrating the very air with its steady beat. Swallowing, unsure of what he was actually getting himself into, Ze turned the knob and stepped inside before he could lose his nerve. 

Beyond, the club itself was nothing like the view from the street. Immediately Símon felt himself swallowed up in the vastness of the main hall, an impossibly large room expanding upwards to the open ceiling that seemed bigger than the building had from the outside. From his position near the entrance, Ze could see that the warehouse-like room had three distinct sections: the open dance floor, complete with flashing lights and towering speakers, took up much of the left side of the room; Lining the opposite wall was a long bar, illuminated by several different shades of blue-and-purple overhanging lights. At the far end was a small lounge area with a few sofas and chairs for patrons to relax and chat over their drinks. And amidst the crowd of people gathered in the  center of the floor was a narrow stage, a catwalk-like platform that stretched out from the far back wall and ended in a flat tee-shape. The stage was lined with a variety of lighting effects, including lasers that even now cast swirling colors onto the club's ceiling. At the end stood twin metal poles, their silver-blue glow contrasting intentionally with the dark walls and decor of the rest of the club.

Símon was, in a word, impressed. He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d first walked through the door, but he’d somehow imagined these kinds of places to be grungy, rough, full of stale smoke and outdated pop hits. The Raven was exactly the opposite. In fact, the music that blasted down from the speakers lining the walls was undeniably progressive, a fast-tempo electronica beat that pulsed through the very floor, and the faces around him were surprisingly young. Dozens of men who appeared to be in their twenties and thirties danced together under flashing lights or flirted at the bar, and he thought maybe he even recognized a few of them from around his campus. 

He had to admit, this was already turning out to be much better than that asinine blind date. 

"Ze! You made it!” A voice called out to him, and Símon glimpsed around until at last he caught sight of Jon and Erin making their way toward him through the crowd. He smiled a waved his hand in greeting. 

“Hi, Ze,” Erin said, reaching him first. “I’m sorry to hear your date didn’t go so well.” 

“It’s fine,” Símon shrugged. “I’ll give Wendy hell about it later.”

“What?” Jon shouted from behind his boyfriend, trying to raise his voice above the booming music. 

“I said I -- “ The Italian stopped himself, smiled, and shook his head. “It’s not important. I’m just glad to be here now.” At that Jon, too, shot his friend a wide grin and, clapping a hand on his shoulder, began to drag him further into the club. 

“That’s the spirit,” he laughed as he walked. “Plenty of hot, single guys here, maybe you’ll get lucky before you leave tonight.” 

Símon shook his head, but couldn’t deny the way his eyes roved over the faces they passed on the way to the bar. A few of the other men nodded or winked as they met his gaze, and he quickly found his cheeks growing warm and his usually shy smile a little bolder. 

Not surprisingly, the bar was packed and all the seats taken, so Símon and Erin stood together near the back wall while Jon went to get them some soft drinks. While they waited, Erin explained what he could about the Raven; how the owner, a young business man, opened the club near the harbor to attract a new demographic to the dying area; how his unique vision for the club had made the place an underground hit - the first of its kind in the city to combine a modern nightclub experience with a stunning array of all-male performers. 

“Performers?” Símon repeated the word quizzically, and noticed the way Erin’s mouth twitched in an uneasy smile. 

“Well,  _ dancers _ , actually. Up there, on the Flight,” he said, and gestured to the platform-like stage Ze had seen before. “They’re what most of the men come here to see.” 

Staring at the stage - the Flight, as Erin had called it - with its twin metal poles shimmering in the cool, dim light, Símon could only imagine one kind of dance taking place there. He swallowed again, harder this time, and tried to pull his eyes away. “Oh, right, that’s cool,” he said quietly, already feeling a growing sense of unease pooling in the pit of his stomach. Jon hadn’t mentioned anything about strippers, but what else could a stage like that possibly mean?  

“Sorry that took so long.” Jon sighed as he suddenly strode up to them, handing over their drinks - each more ice than actual cola - and leaning back against the thrumming wall. “The bartender here is a real piece of work. Anyway, see anything you like yet, Ze?”

“I dunno, the lounge over there looks pretty cool,” came his immediate answer, before he realized with a start that Jon was talking about  _ men. _ He flushed, dropped his eyes to his drink, and took a long, slow sip in answer to his friend’s cheeky grin. 

“Well, then,” Jon continued, slipping an arm around Erin’s waist and hugging his boyfriend even closer. “I think we need to give Ze some time to get a good look around, yeah?” Erin giggled and drained the rest of his soda in response. 

“I agree. We’re usually over here near the bar” he smiled at Símon  as he began to nudge Jon in the other direction. “Come find us if you need anything, alright?”

Símon nodded, but doubted either of his friends even noticed as Jon had already pulled a blushing Erin into a deep kiss, moaning softly to draw the attention of the nearby crowds. As the two stumbled back toward the counter amidst a growing volley of whistles and cheers, Ze decided to turn his attention elsewhere. Leaning back against the wall, he continued to sip his drink and take in the view laid out before him, content to merely watch the night unfold for now. 

Gradually, though he wasn’t aware of the change at first, the music began to shift to a more subtle beat, a less distracting, trance-like rhythm replacing the thrumming bass. The air took on a strange energy, like a sense of anticipation. Even Ze found himself growing excited, impatient, as he noted the way the crowds were moving now away from the dance floor, and slowly gathering around the base of the stage. 

The Flight. 

Símon instinctively tightened his grip on the glass in his hand. The tension building in the room could only mean one thing - the club’s main attraction was about to begin. Vaguely, Ze wondered if his friends were still hard at work of if they, too, were sitting back in anticipation of the show to come.  

Then, on cue, the already-dim lights in the expansive room went out, and an excited hush fell on the crowd. The music changed abruptly into a loud and trilling synthetic beat, and if all eyes in the club weren’t already on the stage, they were now as colorful spotlights illuminated it front and center. Cheers began, whistling and clapping in time with the beat. Despite his reservations, Símon found himself unable to look away as the first of the dancers emerged from the back curtain and, obviously encouraged by his audience’s enthusiasm, blew a few sultry kisses into the crowd. He wore a long, red boa and little else, and Ze hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until the young dancer began to move - long, dark legs flashed under the lights, the boa dangled temptingly between them, as he twirled and leapt his way down to the end of the stage. 

A second dancer joined him quickly in similar fashion, and the pair set to work at the twin poles. Símon did his best to focus on the dancing, to remind himself to admire their  _ skill _ instead of the oversexualized way in which they continuously slid the metal between their thighs, but by the end of the dance even the Italian was growing breathless. 

Around him the crowd continued to cheer and shout, and Ze gave an awkward laugh into his empty glass as the dancers collected money from outstretched hands. He was suddenly thankful to be in the back of the room, propped against a wall, his reddened cheeks all-but invisible in the shadows. Yet shy as he was, he had to admit the performance wasn’t bad. In fact, he was growing curious what could possibly be set to follow an act as flashy as the last. He didn’t have long to wait. Almost as soon as the first two dancers had disappeared behind the curtain, a second pair - this time in full drag from their wigs to their heels - took to the Flight. Their act was as comical and entertaining as it was lewd, and Ze found himself clapping along as they took turns flashing the audience.. 

Several more dances followed, each different from the one before it in some way or another. Some of the dancers performed alone, others in groups, and each time the costumes and music changed in theme and tempo. At last, as three muscular men in matching neckties and briefs sauntered off-stage to a roar of applause, Símon assumed the show was over and started toward the bar to look for his friends. It took him a few steps to realize no one else was moving. 

The cheering and catcalling had died down, but in its place a distinctly excited murmur had swept through the room. Turning back around, Ze noticed that the Flight was still illuminated under a single, burning white light, and that all gazes in the room were fixed on the point where the stage met the heavy black curtain at the back wall. Curious, Ze set his drink down on empty counter space and instead moved away from the bar to get a better view. 

The music started. The spotlight dimmed to a warm yellow. The curtain moved slightly, and the crowd’s collective breath caught. It moved again, and Símon felt his eyes go wide, 

Standing at the edge of the curtain was a tall man with pale skin and a piercing yellow gaze. His ebony hair swung down nearly to his hips, shimmering with a silver glow under the lights, and contrasting with the delicate paleness of his bare chest and arms. His only clothing, a pair of crisp, black leather pants, followed the delicate curves of his waist and thighs, outlining his figure perfectly as he stood, poised, at the edge of the stage. 

Compared to the flashy performances up to that moment, the calm, heavy air surrounding this new dancer was a stark change. It lent him a sense of mystery, captured Ze’s attention and refused to let him go. And, as the beautiful, enchanting dancer took his first steps forward with swan-like grace, Ze dared not even breathe for fear of breaking the spell. 

Silent, elegant steps. Slender limbs wrapped around a single pole, black hair whipped back as he spun once, twice, coming to a stop with his back to the crowd. Then one leather-clad thigh slid slowly, teasingly up the length of the metal, and just as the music picked up momentum the  _ real _ dance began. 

Ze was transfixed. He watched in awe, chest pounding to the beat, as the dancer’s lithe body stepped and turned around and between both poles. He was enthralling, intoxicating, making Símon’s head spin as if he were the one twirling up on stage. But even more beautiful than his body, Ze thought, was his face. Despite the exertion of his movements, his expression was stoic, unbroken by the need to smile or wink to win his audience’s rapt attention. His lips seemed to be set in a permanent pout, yet it only added to his look of concentration, of pure, unadulterated focus, as if he almost didn’t notice or care about the room full of men watching his every move. 

A light sheen of sweat glistened on the man's toned chest as he arched back once more from the pole, and before a single drop of it could fall Símon was moving, too, forward, ever closer to the stage. He wove his way through the crowd without once taking his eyes off the dancer, until finally he was close enough to make out the small, black butterfly tattoo on the side of his pale, slender neck.

And that's when their eyes met.

 

**Aidan**

Aidan was beginning to lose himself, he could  _ feel  _ it. His chest was on fire, his lungs searing with pain with every breath he took. Years of practice kept his body moving automatically through the steps, but even his muscles were beginning to fail. How long had it been since he'd crashed like this?  

His mind spun as fast as his body as he twirled around the pole, until his surroundings meshed into a single, indescribable color. The din in the room slowly grew to an agonizing roar pounding in his ears. Yet still he pushed his body to move,  _ move _ with the beat of the distant music, relentlessly forcing himself to dance even as his mind slipped further away.

Not for the first time he longed for an end.

That's when he saw them; like beacons in the thick fog of his vision, two bright eyes, one green, one blue, stared up at him from the otherwise indiscernible crowd. Inexplicably, his gaze was drawn to them, fixated on them as the only focused points amidst the swirling chaos. Everything hurt so much, and yet…. 

Aidan was suddenly aware that he had stopped moving. He was standing frighteningly still, clutching the pole with a white-knuckled fist as he gazed into those deep pools for what seemed like an eternity. 

Then suddenly, a sharp pain just behind his eyes brought him crashing to his knees. The peace of the moment was over, shattered by the shrill cry that ripped through his throat as he doubled over himself, thin arms wrapping tightly around his burning chest. 

" _ Help me! _ "

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan may not be quite what he seems, but Jon doesn't have to be such a dick about it, _gosh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey, you're still reading, and that makes me super happy!

 

The scream was what tore Símon from the spell. He saw the crowd draw back as the dancer fell to his knees on the stage, his hair cascading down around him like a morbid veil. His gaze locked once more with Símon's, though this time his eyes were pleading.

Símon’s heart thudded in his chest. He scanned around. Why was no one moving? Why weren’t they doing anything to help!? Sudden anger flared up, replaced his momentary panic with something else, something clearer. 

In the space of a heartbeat, the Italian leapt forward to the edge of the stage and hoisted himself up and onto the platform. The fallen dancer was within reach now, body doubled over and thin arms clutching tightly around himself. He shuddered, sank down further as if trying to escape the blinding spotlight, and with a weak moan began to fall to his side. 

Ze caught him not a second too soon. “Hey, I’ve got you,” he said in an attempt to comfort the man. But his own voice sounded so small in the vast room, and he wasn’t sure the dancer could even hear him. Skin cold to the touch, body impossibly light in his arms, he seemed as much an angel as he did a ghost. As he watched, the man’s amber eyes fluttered closed and his lips parted to release a soft, trembling breath, turning his face ever so slightly closer to the warmth of Ze’s chest.  

Suddenly, the Italian’s heart was racing all over again.

"Ze! What's going on?!" Jon's voice carried over the noise of the crowd, snapping Símon back to the reality of the moment. At the same time, the lights above and around the stage went out, drenching him and the dancer in his arms in surprising darkness. 

Jon and Erin came into view several seconds later as they both climbed onto the stage at their friend’s side. 

“What happened?” It was Erin, eyes wide with panic as he rounded on Símon. 

“I don’t know. He just...sort of collapsed,” Ze admitted. His eyes were still locked on the beautiful - and presumably unconscious - man in his lap, and he swallowed hard as fear, uncertainty, confusion began to set in. “We need to get help.” 

“That’s Aidan,” came Jon’s voice, low and quiet, as if that were supposed to mean something. He fixed his gaze on Ze. “The other dancers will know what to do. Can you carry him?” 

He moved his arms, testing the man’s weight against his own strength, and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Then hurry.” 

Lifting the beautiful man -  _ Aidan _ \- to his chest, Símon followed Erin and Jon down the length of the stage and past the curious onlookers to the heavy black curtain at the far wall. Beyond was a short platform of stairs which passed into a dimly lit corridor lined with office doors and storage rooms. The hallway was deserted, so Jon led them to a backstage dressing room further down the hall. There, he guided Símon toward a worn cot in the corner and helped him to lower Aidan onto the mattress.  

Erin rushed off to find some of the other dancers. With nothing to do but wait, Símon knelt silently next to the cot and stared down at the dancer. Despite everything that had happened, his face was relaxed, almost peaceful, and if Símon hadn't known better he would have thought the beautiful man was simply asleep. Even now, his soft lips seem to draw the Italian closer, begged him to brush the hair out of his face and lean in. 

Jon frowned as he watched his friend next to the unconscious dancer. "He'll be fine, Ze. He's probably pretty used to this by now." Símon glanced up at him as if suddenly remembering he was still there, and raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean  _ used to it _ ? Is he sick? I mean, he does look a little thin, but - ," he trailed off, gaze drifting almost automatically back to the man's beautiful face. "He's just so...."

His friend sighed heavily and kneeled down next to him. "I recognize that look, and I’m warning you now. Don't even think about it." He put a hand on Símon's shoulder, slowly drawing his attention away from the man on the cot. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He hasn’t even said two words to me,” came Símon’s reply, his tone defensive. “It’s not like I know anything about him.” 

“Exactly.” The reply was too fast. Jon was biting something back as he looked for the right words. “Aidan might have an advantage when it comes to looks, but don’t let that blind you. He’s not the type you should be getting mixed up with. Honestly,” he sighed and stood. “We shouldn’t have even gotten involved in the first place. This is a real mess.” 

Símon frowned, getting to his feet next to his friend. “You can’t be serious. He needed help, you can’t expect me to just ignore that.” 

“No, but....” Jon shook his head, again struggling to hold back. “I’m just trying to keep you out of trouble. As a friend. Please, just trust me. There’s a lot you don’t know about this guy, and I know what you’re like. For once, please let this one go. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.” 

Jon was staring at him with a seriousness he rarely used, a look that left Símon no more room for argument. He nodded slowly, but was spared from further interrogation as Erin came back into the room with two older dancers in tow. They glanced at Aidan lying on the cot, then at each other as they exchanged looks.

"Figures. We'll take it from here, kids," one of them, a blond, said offhandedly, taking a step forward. The other slipped over to the rack of costumes lining the opposite wall, fishing around in each of the pockets until he found what he was looking for. He withdrew something small and black, quickly palmed it, and moved toward the cot. Símon narrowed his eyes warily. 

"Actually, I have my car out back. I’d feel better taking him to the hospital."

"I  _ said  _ we got it," the blond interjected. "We've been dealing with his pathetic addiction for a long time, we know how to handle this." Ze suddenly frowned, glancing down at the beautiful but unconscious dancer. 

...Addiction?

Those soft lips trembled ever so slightly, a sign that Aidan was finally coming around. Símon instinctively reached down to put a warm hand on his cheek. A weak moan, then pools of amber were slowly revealed as his eyelids slid back, and his unfocused gaze locked with Símon's for the third time that night. Aidan was looking right at him,  _ him  _ and no one else, as if the room and the other people in it didn’t exist. For all Ze cared, maybe they didn’t. He stared back down at the dancer, forgetting for a few precious moments to breathe. The air around them stilled, blossomed with a gentle heat the same temperature as his quickly reddening cheeks.

Aidan must have felt it, too, because he slowly stopped trembling and a single tear rolled down his smooth cheek. " _ Thank you _ ,” he whispered. His voice was so soft Símon wasn't sure he'd heard him at first, but he smiled in response all the same.

Suddenly a firm hand closed over his shoulder and Jon was jerking him back away from the cot. "Come on, let's get out of here. They can handle this," he said in obvious agitation. Erin was already waiting for them in the open doorway. Símon tried to pull away, but his protests died on his lips the moment he glanced down at Aidan again. Already, he seemed confused and was once again starting to shake. 

The other two dancers moved in front of him before Símon could see what was happening, and by the time the Italian regained his senses he was already out of the room and being led quickly down the hall. "W-wait a second," he stammered, shaking his head to clear the remaining fog from his trance. "We can't just leave him back there, he needs to be taken to the hospital!" 

Jon’s silent glare was aggressive, dangerous. Instead of answering, he tightened his grip on Símon’s forearm and forcefully dragged him back to the main dance hall. The crowd milled about noisily around them, having evidently already forgotten the incident in favor of the new beat booming down from the speakers overhead, and Símon clenched his fists at his sides in frustration. 

"Don't worry so much, Símon,” Erin’s gentle voice came from beside him. Bright, green eyes full of concern offered a sympathetic smile. “Those guys said they knew what to do. I'm sure Aidan will be fine." Jon kept his gaze straight ahead as he ushered the two of them toward the bar.

"He's right. This has happened before, and they handled it then. Besides," he frowned, pausing briefly in an attempt to catch the bartender’s attention. "If you make a big deal out of this, Aidan will lose his job."

"That’s better than losing his life," Símon spat angrily. His eyes flicked back toward the curtains of the now-darkened stage, as if hoping for some sign of Aidan's progress. That was the last straw. Jon smacked his palm hard against the counter of the bar.

"God  _ dammit _ , Ze, I told you to let it go. When I suggested finding yourself a guy to go home with, I did  _ not _ mean a fucking whore!”

“Jon!” Erin gasped, putting a hand to his mouth.

“What? It’s the fucking truth! Ze, listen to me. Guys like Aidan don’t want your help or your pity, or whatever ‘feelings’ you think you have. They want your money, got it? A cheap fuck for a few more drugs, that’s all. So let it  _ go _ .” 

The words stung more than Símon could have anticipated. He clenched his jaw, trying not to picture Aidan’s peaceful face or hear his soft voice in his mind as he struggled for some kind of reply. How could Jon say such things? How could he possibly think so horribly of someone neither of them even knew? "Maybe you’re the one who should let it go, Jon. Now you’re just being an asshole."

"Are you actually defending him? I'm trying to protect you from yourself, you dumbass!” Jon whirled, nearly catching Ze in the chest as he stabbed a finger accusingly at him. “Anyone could see it, the way you were practically drooling over him back there like a lovesick puppy. But don’t make the mistake of thinking you were the only way looking at him like that. Making men want him is his  _ job _ .” 

“Both of you, please stop,” Erin groaned as he stepped between them, breaking up the tension in the air. “Ze was only trying to help, isn’t that right? He knows we’re just looking out for him.” 

Avoiding that pleading green gaze, Símon bit back another retort and merely settled for glaring down at the floor. “I can take care of myself,” he muttered, and felt Jon’s glare on him harden. 

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you end up getting hurt again.” With that, Jon muttered something to Erin about getting back to work before gently taking his boyfriend’s hand and starting away from the bar. Erin cast an apologetic look back at Símon, bit his lip, and turned to follow Jon toward the other side of the club. 

An uncomfortable silence surrounded Símon in their wake. With a sigh he sat down at the bar and caught his forehead in his left hand. What if Jon was right? He'd said himself that he didn't know the first thing about Aidan, so why had he jumped to defend him like that? Why, when he’d gazed down into those stunning amber eyes, had he felt so entranced, so calm? True, Aidan was beautiful by anyone’s standards, but he didn’t think it was only the dancer’s looks that had drawn him in. There’d been something else, something in the way he’d moved, the look on his face up on that stage, that had captivated Ze so intensely. Maybe he couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to explain it to his friends, but he knew as well as Jon had that he wasn’t going to let it go so easily. 

Maybe Aidan needed his help and maybe he didn’t, but until he could get the dancer off his mind there was only one way to be certain. 

Running his fingers back through his hair, he cast one last glance at the stage curtain and turned toward the front exit. He'd go home, get some sleep, and come back tomorrow to talk to Aidan then. If nothing else, he could at least check on his condition, make sure he was holding up alright. 

Oh, and he'd have to call Wendy and take care of a few things first. .

Feeling slightly more in control of the situation, Símon headed outside and around to the back parking lot of the Raven, thumb tapping rapidly at the screen of his phone as he unlocked his car. As he slid into the driver’s seat of the black Zagato, he looked up at the dark wall of the club looming before him and thought again of Aidan, lying on that cot somewhere inside, looking at once so peaceful and yet so pained. Símon bit his lip and at last forced himself to drive away from the building and into the dark, winter night, 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ze keeps his promise to go back to the Raven to check on Aidan. But he may not fully understand what he's getting himself into....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They meet! They flirt! There are...well, no sparks yet. Mostly Ze is way out of his element and Aidan thinks it's cute but also annoying. But also cute.  
>  _But also annoying._  
>  (His head hurts give him a break)

******Aidan**

The incessant pounding in his skull was what finally pulled Aidan out of his dreamless sleep. He groaned in futile defiance, pressed a palm against his throbbing temple, and finally managed to crack open one eye to look around. 

He regretted it instantly. Wherever he’d woken up this time, it was  _ way  _ too fucking bright. Throwing a thin arm over his eyes, he allowed himself to lie still for a few more minutes until he regained enough of the feeling in his lower body to sit up.

This time when he peered around, the first thing he noticed was that there was no one else in the room with him. The only actual light came from a small lamp nearby on the vanity, which meant that he was most likely in the dressing room at the back of the Raven. But how was that possible? Last thing he could remember was walking out onto the Flight, fighting the urge to throw up, and then….

No good, His memory was fuzzy at best, just snippets of light and color and sound. Did that mean he’d passed out again? Who had brought him here? And worst of all, did Chase know? 

Head still pounding relentlessly, Aidan collapsed back onto the small cot with an exhausted sigh. He wondered vaguely what time it was, then decided he didn't actually give a fuck. Considering the fact that he probably wouldn't have a job much longer, it wouldn't make any difference if he went out there to dance now anyway. Especially in this condition. Hell, he could barely stand as it was, and just the thought of twirling around under all those lights made him want to throw up again. 

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door, and he sat up with a start. Bad idea. 

Aidan bit back his cry just in time. "Hey, Aidan! Is your sorry ass still alive in there?" He realized with mild relief that he recognized that voice. It was Djon, the club's mixer, and one of the few people at the Raven he could still tolerate.

"More or less. What do you want?" Even to his own ears, his voice sounded drained, weak. When the door to the dressing room slowly cracked open and Djon popped his head inside, Aidan greeted him with the most cheerless smile he could muster.  

“I’ve been worried about you,” Djon admitted and stepped fully inside. He stopped short the second he got a closer look at the dancer in the dim light “Shit. Do you feel as bad as you look?”

“If I look like I’ve been run over by a bus, then yes.”

“Hope you caught the plate.” The mixer fell silent, taking in the sight of his friend and wondering where he could possibly redirect the conversation. In the three years he’d known Aidan, he’d learned when he could push and when it was better to simply avoid the elephants in the room. “So, uh, everyone else’s gone home, it’s just you and me here. The bathroom’s free if you need to wash up or anything.”

Everyone had already left? If that was true, then…. “What time is it?”  

Djon glanced at the phone in his hand, then back up. “Almost six. You need a ride home, or…?” 

“No,” Aidan answered quickly, followed by a heavy sigh as he once more took his aching head in his hands. Six in the morning. Not only had he passed out on stage, but he’d missed the rest of the night’s performances, as well. Chase was definitely not going to look kindly on him this time. “I’ll just stay here, I don’t think I can move much anyway right now. Just need to rest a little more.” 

“Alright, well, I’m heading out. Call me if you need anything?” Djon frowned at the dismissive way Aidan waved him off, but knew better than to comment. Instead, he tossed a set of spare keys onto the foot of the cot and flashed a grin. “Lock up if you go out, I’m not getting blamed if anything in here gets stolen. That includes any bottles Malcolm discovers missing tonight.” 

Aidan managed a grin that almost matched his friend’s. “Just what do you take me for?” 

A knowing laugh, then Djon waved his goodbye as he headed back out into the hall. Aidan waited for the sound of his heavy bags of cables and equipment to pass out of range before stretching back out on the cot with a sigh. As tempting as both the unmanned bar and a makeshift shower sounded, they would have to wait. Hiding in here until his headache passed seemed like a safer option - and kept him from crossing paths with his boss for a little while longer. He’d have to face Branden Chase eventually, but the longer he could put it off the better, he thought. 

 

**Símon**

Ze rushed into the lab a little after four o’clock. He’d asked Wendy to meet him at three thirty, but he’d gotten so caught up with cleaning and then trying in vain to gel his hair into place that he’d completely lost track of time. Now, running late and with rebellious curls sticking up at odd angles, he could only pray that she would still be waiting for him. She was his last hope. 

Relief washed over him as he caught sight of his friend at the center row of tables. Her earbuds were in, and she bobbed her head lazily to the music as she flicked colorful balls around on the screen of her phone. “Wendy,” he called, hoping he was still far enough away to catch her attention without startling her off the stool. 

She perked up, throwing a glance over her shoulder and brightening when Ze came running up. “Well, well,” she smirked as he tugged her headphones out and tossed them into her bag on the floor. “I never thought I’d live to see the day that Símon Accieto was late for anything.”

“Sorry,” he panted. He ran his fingers back through his unruly hair - a nervous habit he’d had as long as he could remember - and shrugged. “I got busy, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“Don’t sweat it.” She stood, took in a long, appraising look, and folded her arms across her chest. “You look...different. Is that a new shirt?” Flushing a little, he followed her gaze down to the simple, dark-grey button-up he’d spent several hours picking out that morning at the mall. The clerk had told him it went well with the dark jeans he’d also bought, but now he gave the too-tight collar a nervous tug. Maybe he should have just gone with one of his plain sweaters, after all.

“Sorta. Um, listen, I’m going out tonight and I need to ask you -- “

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” Wendy said suddenly, her whole face lighting up as she cut him off. “It’s Chester, isn’t it? Are you seeing him again? My sister said he thought you were really cute. I knew if you just gave him a chance you’d -- ”

Ze cringed, held up a hand to silence her. “No, no that’s not it. That date was actually really terrible, so no more of those, okay?” He ignored how quickly a look of utter disappointment replaced Wendy’s excitement, and continued anyway. “This is something different, something kind of important. And I need your help.”

She recovered fast. “Sure, yeah, okay. Anything. What do you need me to do?” Taking a deep breath, he looked her in the eye before continuing. 

“I need you to finish my project for me.” 

A stunned pause, then, “ _ What _ ?”

“Wendy, please! It’s due Monday morning, and there’s no way I can turn it in like this. It’s almost done, it just….”

“Doesn’t actually work, right?” Groaning, she turned to the table next to them and took in the sight of his impressively complex contraption, with all of its interconnected and, at the moment, unmoving parts. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” Ze said again, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You’re the only one smart enough to figure it out. I trust you completely. And,” he added, affecting a stern look, “You kind of owe me.” It was low, petty even, but he was desperate. Wendy didn’t answer at first, but continued to stare at the device as if weighing her options. 

“Fine. I’ll give it my best shot,” she said at last, but Ze’s relief was short-lived. “On one condition. You at least have to tell me his name.”

The gasp that came out of Símon’s mouth was something akin to a fish being suddenly pulled from the comfort of its watery home. Wendy laughed, shook her head once more at his appearance, and produced a small comb from somewhere in her bag. “You are so easy to read, you know that?” she grinned, reaching up to smooth his hair into place. “New shirt, new hairstyle, too busy to even think about your precious work. It doesn’t even take being a genius like me to see what’s going on.” Satisfied with her work, she tossed the comb aside and instead moved her fingers down to pop open the top two buttons of her friend’s shirt. “So? He does have a name, right?” 

Símon swallowed again, but he knew there was no use lying. “Um, it’s Aidan,” he answered softly, giving her a sheepish smile. 

“Aidan,” she repeated, smiling at the way the name sounded on her lips. “It’s about damn time, Ze.” 

Part of Símon wanted to shake his head, to correct her. But the other part of him, the part that had spent every waking moment since leaving the Raven the night before thinking about Aidan, hoping for even a moment to be able to talk with the dancer, thinking over and over about what he should say to him, that part couldn’t bear to admit the truth. So he smiled again and thanked Wendy, promised to text her with details, and ducked out of the lab as quickly as he could. 

As soon as he was alone and in his car again, he let out a nervous sigh. Checking his hair in the mirror, he had to marvel for a moment at the difference Wendy’s comb had made, and hoped he could manage to keep it unfrazzled long enough to see Aidan again. Anticipation got the better of him, and soon he was heading out of the college parking lot and across town where the Raven was just opening up for the night. 

 

**Aidan**

A makeshift shower in the sink of the bathroom did wonders for Aidan’s mood. As soon as the icy water hit his face, he could feel his headache receding along with the sweat and grime coating his skin. He finished off a bottle of hand soap and used up half of the towels in the dispenser before he was through, but the change was immediate. Stuffing the towels into the trash, he stretched his arms high up over his head and sighed as his back let out a series of pops. Though dangerous to make a habit of it, he had to admit that his unexpected night off had been a blessing in disguise.

Now if only he could spend the rest of the night avoiding his boss. 

The other dancers started to arrive a little before five. By then, Aidan had helped himself to the bar (just a little off the top of a few bottles so that Malcolm wouldn’t notice) and was relaxing again in the back dressing room, surrounded in his usual sullen silence. None of the others had the inclination to bother with him, coming as going as they changed into their costumes and makeup without a second glance in his direction. 

Honestly, Aidan preferred their ignoring him to the alternative. When he’d first come to the Raven, homeless and underage, looking less for a job than he was the drugs that came along with it, he’d actually gotten along well with nearly everyone there. Besides Djon, he’d once dared to consider several of the other dancers his friends, working hard to learn the moves they taught him and imitate their elegance on the stage. 

But a lot had changed in the years since. Except for Djon, no one else seemed to have the patience for his mood swings or his ever-worsening addiction. The more they had tried to help him, the more he’d shoved them all away, until most of them had written him off completely as a lost cause. Not that he was exactly proud of the reputation he’d garnered for himself, but he’d always felt more comfortable being left alone anyway. 

At exactly five o’clock, the club came to life. From the main hall, Aidan could hear Djon kick the night off with an upbeat pop remix, its rapid and catchy beat spilling down the hallway and sending the dancers into motion. The few others in the room hurriedly finished their makeup and rushed out to mingle with the first crowd of the night. 

Aidan didn’t bother to get up from the cot. The men flowing onto the dance floor didn’t interest him in the least, and neither, honestly, did dancing, at least not after his incident the night before. Briefly, he wondered if anyone would even notice him missing if he just didn’t perform that night.

“Aidan?” 

Blond, short, one of the newer dancers whose name Aidan had never bothered to learn poked his head into the dim room and caught the dancer’s eye. “You got a visitor,” he said in answer to Aidan’s silent question, and he could almost hear the smirk dripping from his lips. “He’s kinda cute.”

He sighed. “Just…. Tell him to come back later. I’m not in the mood.” 

There was a brief silence as the dancer disappeared from view, then appeared a moment later to speak again. "He says his name's Símon. He met you last night. He says he brought you here after...y’know...."

Aidan’s frown tightened, and he let his hands fall gently into his lap. Well, he supposed that explained how he ended up here in the first place. But why had this guy bothered to come back? Did he expect some kind of payment, something in return? "Uh, yeah. Fine," he said cautiously, scooting a bit farther back on the cot. The door opened, and the young dancer winked over his shoulder before moving aside to let the other man into the room. 

Whatever Aidan had been expecting, it certainly wasn't the vision that greeted him now. He was fairly tall, looking to be a year or so younger than himself, and he stepped into the dimly-lit room with a sweet, awkward smile on his lips. His black hair looked as though it had recently been slicked back, but was now falling messily around his face in short curls. Under a heavy wool coat he was well-dressed, but kept folding his arms in front of himself as if embarrassed by Aidan’s gaze on him. Surprisingly, Aidan found him rather attractive. And amusing.

  
  


**Símon**

There was no sign of the other dancer now; it was just the two of them. Símon stood in the middle of the room in silence, letting his eyes adjust to the light as he stared at the beautiful, ebony-haired man seated before him. He'd practiced over and over in the car, but now that he was finally alone with Aidan, he didn't have a clue what to say.

Aidan raised a wary eyebrow. "Did you come here for a reason, or are you just going to stand there and look?” His voice, lower than Símon had expected, broke the silence surrounding them. The Italian blinked suddenly.

"Oh, sorry!" he stammered, rocking back on his heels. "I, um, just wanted to see how you were doing. After last night, I mean."

Aidan couldn't repress a dark smirk. "Why, are you rougher than you look or something?" But this only seemed to confuse the young man, so Aidan sighed. "Look, I don't remember much about what happened last night. If you're looking for some kind of thank you, you'll have to come back later when I feel less like a train wreck."

He put a hand to his temple for effect, closing his eyes as he waited for the other to turn and go. However, instead of leaving, Símon took a bold step closer, one hand reaching into his coat pocket. "I thought you might be feeling under the weather, so I brought these." He pulled out a small white bottle, dumping two aspirin into his palm before offering them out to Aidan. "Guess I didn’t think to bring anything to drink, though." He smiled never faded as he held out the pills and pocketed the rest of the bottle again. 

Aidan frowned as he slowly pulled his hand away from his face and stared up at the boy. Was he serious? Had he any idea who he was talking to? What kind of place he was in? Símon's cheeks reddened softly the longer Aidan’s eyes were on him. Then, hesitantly, the dancer reached out to take the pills. 

“Thanks," he muttered. He popped them into his mouth, downing them with practiced ease, then glanced back up and frowned again. "You don't seem like the type to spend his time hanging out at strip clubs. What are you  _ really _ doing here?" 

Símon took the seat next to Aidan's cot where'd he'd watched over him the night before.

"I guess you're right,” he said, smiling. “Last night was the first time I’d even been to a place like this. I was worried it was a bad idea at first, but…. Well, I'm glad I came," he finished, eyes turning up to Aidan's. The dancer blinked slightly in the dim light; closer now, he could swear the boy's eyes were two different colors. 

"Huh," Aidan shrugged, looking away quickly to stare at the wall instead. He didn't like the way his stomach suddenly felt so light. "And why might that be?"

There was a short pause. "Well. Because I got to meet you." His gentle words sounded so sincere, so  _ hopeful _ , that Aidan laughed. 

" _ Me _ ? You don’t know the first thing about me." He put on a dark smile, suddenly leaning closer to run a long, slender finger slowly down the front of Símon's shirt to prove his point. "Go home."

Though his breath hitched noticeably at Aidan's sudden touch, Símon shook his head. "That’s true, I really don’t know anything about you. But that's why I want to get to know you better, to spend time with you." He smiled again. "Let me take you out to dinner sometime."

Aidan started to laugh, but stopped short when he realized the boy was being serious. How long had it been since the last time someone had asked him out to dinner? He honestly couldn't remember.... Hell, he wasn't even sure he  _ had _ been asked before. The guys who usually came to him had only one thing on their minds, and it certainly didn't involve buying him a meal. 

But something about this kid seemed different, at least enough to make Aidan curious. "What did you say your name was?" he asked cautiously, eyes narrowing a bit as he studied the other’s face.

"It's Símon. But most people just call me Ze." 

"Símon? That’s exotic. What is it, Italian or something?" The boy nodded, and Aidan couldn't help but smirk. "Guess that explains the accent. It's kinda cute." He sighed softly, oblivious to the deep blush once again tinting Símon's cheeks. "Fine. But only because you brought me the aspirin." After all, who was he to pass up a free meal?

The boy grinned, shifting slightly in the chair. "Great!" He honestly hadn't been expecting Aidan to agree, especially given his current mood, and it was difficult to hide his sudden excitement. "When do you want to go?"

Aidan reached out to wrap a delicate hand around Símon's wrist, smirking at the boy's sudden intake of breath from his slightest touch. "Relax." He turned Símon's arm enough to catch a glimpse of the face of his watch before releasing him again. "I don't have to be back here for another three hours," he said. Assuming, of course, that he still had a job. "Why not get this over with now?"

Sensing that his headache was finally beginning to fade, Aidan made another attempt to stand. He stretched his arms a bit, moving to the edge of the cot and placing a hand on Símon's shoulder to steady himself as he got to his feet. So far so good. Taking a breath, he slowly made his way over to the vanity against the opposite wall and glanced up at the mirror. Even in the dim light, he could tell that he looked terrible. His skin was even paler than usual, creating a sharp contrast with the dark shadows and the bit of leftover make-up around his eyes. He looked so tired, so old. He looked like death. 

“Are you alright?" Símon asked gently, stepping up next to Aidan. "If you're not feeling well, we can do this another time, you know." Aidan sneered at his reflection for a moment longer, then shook his head.

"No. It's nothing," he lied, turning around to face Símon as he leaned back against the vanity. He could almost feel those cold eyes in the mirror still gazing at him. "Just wondering if I make the dress code for our little date." Símon blushed softly as Aidan swept a hand over his own bare chest, bringing it to rest lightly on his stomach just above the hemline of the low-cut, black leather pants he'd been wearing the night before. Since he'd come into the room, the Italian had been trying hard to ignore the dancer's current, half-naked state, and now he forced himself to look away before he could embarrass himself further.

"W-well, if you'd be more comfortable, we could go back to my place instead. I'd be happy to cook something." 

The smirk on Aidan's lips suddenly faltered. Maybe he'd been right about this kid, after all. From his experience, an invitation like that guaranteed he'd wind up on his back on some dirty couch before the night was through, no matter how innocent it might start out. Not that he really expected any more, though.

Oh, well. At least this one was cute.

His attitude changed completely. He put on a fake, tender smile, the one he used around all of his clients, and gently wrapped a thin arm around Símon's waist. "That sounds nice," he said, his voice free of the cynical, almost mocking tone it had carried before. How he hated this.

Símon blinked, caught slightly off guard by his companion's sudden change in mood and the arm tightening around his waist. But he decided not to comment, lest he somehow encourage Aidan to change his mind about coming with him altogether. Instead, he smiled as best he could and began to walk with the ebony-haired dancer out into the hall. 

As Aidan moved toward the door, he caught a second glimpse of himself in the mirror. Somehow he thought that smile made him look even more disgusting than before.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan finds Ze's home to be as cute and charming as the kid himself. And it finds himself surprisingly loathe to leave again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS ARE SO NICE WHAT OMG  
> Bonus chapter for you tonight x3

**** The Italian's house was, to put it simply, the coziest Aidan had ever seen. It wasn't big by most standards, but compared to his own single-room shit-hole, this humble little home seemed a palace. Azure shutters accented the windows in the front, set nicely against the light blue paint of the house itself; the roof overhung slightly above the white door and small brick porch; rows of colorful flowers - Aidan didn't know their names - lined either side of the narrow walkway leading from the sidewalk to the entrance. It was, in a word, cute. The type of home they featured in those gardening magazines for bored housewives. 

"You live here with your girlfriend?" Aidan asked casually, drawing a half-smoked  cigarette from his pocket as he stepped out of the car. The place seemed a little too feminine even for a queer; the outside alone had every hint of a woman's touch. Not that he would be surprised of the kid had a girl, of course. He knew for a fact that a surprising number of his most regular clients left him at night to go home to a wife and kids.

"Girlfriend?" Símon repeated, looking up suddenly from hunting for his house keys. "N-no, I'm single." The Italian suddenly realized he was blushing again, and so quickly turned back to his coat pocket to resume his search. Aidan shrugged and lit his cigarette, taking a long, slow drag in the cool evening air.  _ Makes no difference _ , he thought.  _ One less complication to worry about, that’s all. _

Finally having located his keys (they were still back in the car), Símon smiled and led Aidan to the porch while he unlocked the front door. On the way in, Aidan at least had the decency to stub out the rest of his cigarette on the bricks. He tossed the butt into the bushes to the side and stepped into the living room, where a single, leather sofa sat against the wall to the left. There was a pile of books spread on one end, and Símon quickly shuffled them onto the floor before gesturing for the dancer to have a seat. "Make yourself comfortable, it'll only take a few minutes to cook. How does chicken sound?" he asked with a hopeful smile. Aidan shrugged, sinking down into the comfortable cushions.

"Whatever you want," he replied slowly, adding an ambiguous wink in the Italian's direction. 

Símon, however, appeared oblivious, instead nodding and striding off to an adjacent room Aidan could only assume was the kitchen. A moment later, his guess was confirmed as the sounds of clanging pots and cabinets being hastily opened met his ears. He sighed and glanced over at the stack of thick books now swaying dangerously on the floor next to the couch. He picked up the first one and read the title;  _ Advanced Applied Biology _ . 

So, this kid was a college boy, too. How cute. 

Entertaining himself for the next half hour by flipping through the pages of the textbook, Aidan barely noticed when Símon finally reappeared in the living room. "Dinner's ready!" he announced, smiling cheerfully. The ebony-haired dancer glanced up from a rather fascinating picture of the male anatomy, and couldn't suppress a smirk at the Italian's appearance. 

Tied around his waist, covering part of the stylish outfit he had worn to the club, was a prim, lavender apron complete with an array of cooking stains and matching oven mitts. In addition, there were a few splotches of baking powder left on his cheek and nose from his rush to prepare dinner. 

"That's a nice look on you." Aidan set the book aside and got to his feet. Símon glanced down at himself and managed an embarrassed grin. Obviously, he wasn’t too used to having company.

“Oh, right,," he laughed, taking off the mitts and reaching back for the tie of his apron. Suddenly, a slender arm snaked around his waist. His cheeks reddened as he felt the knot loosen and the cords slip apart, and he found himself staring directly into the most beautiful, amber colored eyes he'd ever seen. "T-thanks...," he breathed shakily to the man who now hovered mere inches from his own face.

Aidan gave a sly smirk, slowly leaning forward to lick the bit of the baking powder from the Italian's cheek. "Don't mention it." With that, he stepped past him into the kitchen, leaving a very flustered Símon clutching the wall for support.

Despite the awkward beginnings of the date, Símon had to admit that the dinner turned out absolutely perfect. His Chicken Romaine tasted wonderful, especially for having been prepared in such a hurry, and the single, small glass of red wine he usually had with dinner definitely helped to calm his nerves. Aidan seemed to be enjoying his meal as well, because he didn't stop eating until his plate was completely cleaned, and he'd emptied three full glasses of wine. Símon was quite impressed; he would never have guessed that someone as thin as Aidan could eat so much in one sitting, but he was certainly pleased to see his cooking was appreciated.

"Was it good?" he laughed, standing up to clear the table. Aidan gave a slight nod in response as he leaned back in his chair. "I don't get the chance to cook for others very often, so I always appreciate new opinions." Símon set the plates in the sink, turning on the faucet.

"You live here by yourself, then?" Aidan asked indifferently. He drew another cigarette out of his pocket, followed by a dirty, half-empty lighter he'd lifted from some careless client. As he lit the end of his cigarette, Símon slid a small bowl across the surface of the table.

"Sorry, I don't have any real ashtrays," he offered, smiling apologetically before turning back to the sink-full of dishes. "But to answer your question, yeah. My father died four years ago, and so as soon as I started school my mom moved back to Italy. She and my grandparents still help to pay for this house, though." Símon shrugged, his eyes following Aidan's gaze around the kitchen for a moment before settling back on the ebony-haired dancer. "What about you? Do you have any family here?"

The sound of running water ceased as Símon shut off the faucet, then returned to his seat at the table across from Aidan. The dancer watched him closely as he sat back down, confused not for the first time that night about the kid's true motives. If all he wanted was sex, why was he bothering to ask a question like that? He studied the Italian's face for a moment, but before he could meet his eyes again - that strange blue and green gaze that seemed somehow made his skin itch - he turned away.

"No," he answered simply. That one word brought an abrupt end to the topic.

An awkward silence followed then, broken only by the scrape of the dancer's chair against the floor as he stood up a few minutes later. The remainder of his cigarette still smoldered in the makeshift ashtray.

"Why don't we go out into the living room?" he suggested. "It's a bit more comfortable." Once again adopting his fake smile, his let his fingers brush over the front of Símon's shirt and shoulder as he walked past. He felt the Italian shiver under his slight touch, heard his soft intake of breath. This was going to be too easy.

Aidan led Símon back to the couch where he'd sat before, and gently patted the cushion next to him after taking his own seat. Símon, though blushing noticeably now, nodded and plopped down at his side. There was another awkward silence when Aidan put his hand on the younger man's leg.

"Since you so kindly made me dinner, I'll do this for forty," he said, his free hand swiftly moving up to undo the top button on the Italian's shirt. Símon paled, rooted to the spot, watching helplessly as Aidan slipped into his lap and locked his knees on either side of his thighs.

"W-what...are you...?" he choked out between soft gasps. The dancer's hands had quickly found the bottom of his shirt, and were currently running over his stomach as a skilled tongue flicked at his throat. "A-Aidan!"

Firm hands found slender shoulders, and Símon pushed him away. Aidan frowned.

"What?" he asked, irritated. Símon stared up at him in shock and confusion for a moment. The dancer noticed he was trembling. With a disappointed sigh, Aidan removed himself from the Italian's lap and sunk back into the cushions of his own seat. "I don't get you," he muttered after a short pause. "What the hell did you bring me here for if not this?"

"I...just wanted to make you dinner...," Símon stammered truthfully, still a bit shaken and feeling hurt. "That's all. I just wanted to do something nice for you...." He bit his lip.  _ God _ . Maybe Jon had been right.

The dancer fell silent for a while, staring at the floor beneath his feet. He ought to be cursing himself for wasting his time here. He should have known this kid wasn't like all the others, that he wasn't going to make any money from him. It’s been a long time since he’d given up on the kindness of strangers, and though he could still feel Símon’s gaze on him, he just couldn't bring himself to respond anymore. Frankly, he didn't even know what he would say. Dealing with emotions, especially when they involved others, was hardly his forte. He found it was easier to just keep quiet.

Thankfully, this time, he was spared the grief. Símon's weight lift from the sofa as the kid suddenly bolted up.

"Shit...it's nine o'clock! Weren't you supposed to be back to work an hour ago?" Aidan finally forced his head up to face the Italian, who glanced down at him from over his watch. Once again, his eyes seemed full of concern -  _ genuine  _ concern - as if he had already forgotten the awkward almost-blowjob mere moments before. Aidan quickly looked away again.

"Forget it. Someone can cover for me, they've done it before." Again, this was assuming he still even had a fucking job. Then, with Símon's gaze still on him, he added, "It's fine, really. You shouldn't worry about me."

"I probably shouldn't, but I do anyway," Símon said quietly, eyes suddenly glued to the floor. There was a pause. "Would you like me to take you home, then?"

Just as Aidan was about to accept, he felt a sudden pang of fear shoot through him like a blade of ice. He couldn't take Símon back to his place. He didn't want to show him the sorry excuse for a home he lived in, the tattered pile of rags where he slept. It was a pathetic wreck, just like him.

Since the kid obviously knew nothing about him, Aidan wanted to keep it that way.

"Aidan?" Símon was looking at him now, regarding him with a worried frown. "Do you want me to take you home?"

"No," the dancer replied as he stood up. "I can walk. It's not that far." Long, slender fingers ran back through ebony hair, and Aidan turned and started for the front door.

Símon bit his lip. Although he knew he was being foolish, that he was letting his heart control him rather than common sense, he couldn't stand the sight of Aidan walking away from him. He barely knew this man, had only met him the night before - at a strip club, no less - but he felt an inexplicable connection to him. He felt as though, when their eyes had met for the first time, his entire world had been completely changed. There was something about Aidan that made his palms sweaty and his heart beat faster. And if nothing else, he wanted to discover the reason why.

Which is why there was no way he could stand back and let Aidan walk out of his life so easily.

"Stay here tonight!" The words left the Italian's mouth before his brain even registered that he was speaking. Was that...what he'd really meant to say? Regardless, it seemed to have the desired effect; Aidan's hand stopped, his fingers hovering just above the doorknob, and he turned his head to stare back at Símon. His face was completely expressionless.

"You've changed your mind then?"

Símon's cheeks flushed. "Uh, n-no. But, well, it's late and pretty dark outside. I'd feel better knowing you were safe here, and not out in the streets." Not a total lie, really. "I'll even make you breakfast in the morning before I take you back to work." He smiled hopefully, turning his cheeks an even brighter shade of pink. To his surprise, Aidan gave a soft laugh.

"You're cute, you know that?" He took a few steps away from the door, turning to face Símon fully now. It hadn't really surprised him that the Italian had offered to let him spend the night. No, what surprised him was that, the more he thought about it, the more he actually  _ wanted _ to stay. Did he really need an explanation for it? After all, who in their right mind would turn down such an offer when their only other option was to return to a cold, unforgiving room and an empty bed?

"So...you'll stay?" Símon asked cautiously, having apparently taken Aidan's previous comment as a sign of consent. The dancer stared up at him, a slight frown on his full lips, as the question took a moment to register between his confusing thoughts.

"Yeah," he said finally, using his characteristically detached tone that belied any true emotions he might be feeling. "I'll stay." Taking a few more steps toward the Italian, Aidan reached out to put a hand on his cheek. Símon flinched only slightly, but held his ground as the other man's fingers gently caressed his skin. Gaze moving from the dancer's beautiful lips up to his even more stunning eyes, Símon managed a small grin.

"Okay, but you're sleeping on the couch."

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hot, home-cooked meal. A comfortable sofa and a roof over his head. Aidan's either done something to earn a bit of luck for a change, or he's in for a shit storm ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Flail flail flail* HERE'S SOME MORE OMG 
> 
> Can't stop won't stop!

Aidan yawned as he tossed the pillow against the arm of the brown leather sofa, shaking off another wave of exhaustion. Despite his inadvertent ‘night off’ and getting almost fourteen hours of sleep, his body was still aching to stretch out on the supple cushions. As Símon came back into the living room with a thick, flannel blanket piled high in his arms, the dancer nearly groaned at the sight.

"This ought to do it," Ze smiled, unfolding the blanket and spreading it out over the cushions. "How's that?" 

Giving a slight nod, Aidan sat down and ran his hand over the blanket. "It's nice. Thanks." He stretched his arms over his head, smirking at the satisfying  _ pop _ in his shoulders, then all but collapsed onto the pillow. The cushions seemed to swallow him up immediately, gently cradling his entire body, and he heard a soft sigh escape his lips at the sheer comfort. He closed his eyes and snuggled a bit more into the pillow.

Suddenly, he felt the blanket being lifted around him, before it was lightly draped up over his shoulders. He opened his eyes again to find Símon still standing over him, smiling as he finished tucking Aidan in. The dancer couldn't resist a small laugh.

"You really are a piece of work, Ze." Símon actually flushed a little to hear his name on Aidan's voice, soft and relaxed as it was.

"Nah, I'm nothing special," he shrugged as he gave the blanket a soft pat, and took a moment to indulge in the sight of amber eyes peering out at him from under it.  _ But you...you're incredible, _ he thought to himself, a gentle smile forming on his lips. "Well, good night, Aidan." He'd just started to pull back when a strange impulse took him. Childish, perhaps, but it seemed only natural, after all. 

His eyes briefly grazed over the dancer's lips, and before he could stop himself he was leaning down to cover them with his own in a good-night kiss.

It seemed to Símon that a whole lifetime could have passed in the brief few seconds their lips were touching. The room around them vanished; the couch, the floor, the ceiling, none of it mattered. A solitary peace had descended around him, and despite the racing of his heart Símon felt as if he had stumbled into some heavenly dream.

With some effort, he managed to pull away. Opened his eyes to find Aidan staring curiously up at him, lips parted ever so slightly as though trying unsuccessfully to form the beginning of a question. Símon immediately turned scarlet.

"...I am so sorry! I d-didn't mean to - !" he stammered, rooted to the spot with the shock of what he'd just done. "I don't know what came...over...."

The warm hand on his cheek effectively silenced him, and Aidan gave a soft chuckle. "You want a  _ real  _ kiss?" Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the Italian's mouth back down to his, locking their lips together a second time. He quickly took advantage of Símon's attempted protest to slip his tongue between his lips, exploring his mouth hungrily even as the kid’s resistant crumbled away. 

Several moments passed. At some point, Aidan's free hand found the bottom of Símon's shirt and began to stroke his side. The Italian moaned softly; a shiver ran through him, and he instinctively sucked on the tongue probing his mouth. He was losing himself too easily to Aidan's touch. Too easily,  _ too fast _ . In fact, it wasn't until the dancer's expert fingers pressed up against the growing bulge in the front of his pants that Símon realized just how dangerous the situation had become. 

Blushing furiously, he pulled away from Aidan's mouth and stood, panting, next to the couch. "Sh-shit...," he gasped, trying desperately to coax blood flow back to his brain. Aidan grinned up at him as he wiped the corner of his mouth. 

"Good night, Símon." With that, the dancer rolled over onto his side to face the back of the couch, pulling the blanket up to his chin. 

The Italian continued to stare after the figure under the covers while he waited for his breathing to return to normal. What the hell had just happened? Had Aidan  _ wanted  _ to kiss him like that, or was he simply teasing him again? 

And why the hell did he wish that, either way, he hadn't stopped as soon as he did? 

Shaking his head to ward off any more useless questions, Símon quietly backed away from the couch and headed down to the hall to his bedroom. Once there, he made doubly sure to lock the door behind him before sinking back against it. He felt confused and excited all at once, and frankly he wasn't sure he trusted himself not to lose control completely if given another chance that night. Why was it so easy for Aidan to make him feel this conflicted inside?

Groaning at his sudden sense of helplessness, he got up and walked the several feet to the edge of his mattress, collapsing on top of the covers. He didn't bother changing out of his clothes - he was too tired, and too eager to ignore the dull ache lurking beneath the fabric of his jeans. Maybe some sleep would help to clear his mind.

 

The living room was beginning to feel more empty by the minute. Aidan rolled onto his back again, throwing one arm over his eyes as he tried to force himself to sleep. What the hell was wrong with him? He should be taking advantage of Símon's hospitality while he had the chance; but instead, he found himself wide awake, stomach churning and mind spinning with questions. 

It had been a long time since he'd been so affected by something as trivial as a kiss. In fact, he couldn't remember having ever kissed someone and actually... _ meaning _ it. Normally, his kisses were brief, fleeting, and served only to intensify a client's passion. But with Símon, it had been different. 

Just like everything else about him.

Aidan groaned, sensing one of his frequent headaches coming on.  _ Dammit, _ he supposed that was his punishment for thinking too fucking much. Massaging his temple slowly with his thumb, he did his best to change the course of his thoughts to something less taxing. 

He landed, however, on the subject of his questionable job status, and felt another knot twist in his stomach. So much for escaping the misery of his life for at least one night.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lines between dreams and reality begin to blur for Símon, who suddenly finds himself playing host to the man of his _both_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut yet but I used the word 'cock' so. Y'know. Don't freak out.

**** It was after nine before Símon finally managed to drag himself out of bed. He'd been awake half the night, slipping in and out of a feverish dream in which he and Aidan had been dancing together at the Raven, amidst swirling lights and the cheers of onlookers. Aidan had spent most of the dream rubbing against Símon's chest, and doing amazing things with his tongue to the side of his neck. At one point, the setting had shifted back to the couch in his living room, with Aidan spread comfortably beneath him wearing nothing but that smirk on his lips. 

That was when Símon woke up. 

Heart racing, cock painfully hard beneath the fabric of the jeans he’d never taken off, he agonized for some time about going back to sleep and letting the dream run its course. In the end, however, he decided to will away the thought - Aidan was right out in the other room, after all! - and throw himself from the bed before his overactive imagination could actually play out the rest of the scene for him.

The Italian ran his hands back through his messy hair, fighting back a yawn as he rebuttoned his shirt in front of the mirror. With a sigh, he recalled the reason he was still wearing the same outfit from the day before. He'd have to change into fresh clothes later, after a nice cold shower to finish clearing his mind.

Símon allowed the soft morning light filtering in through the living room windows to guide him down the hall, and toward the couch where Aidan would still be sleeping. He could almost picture the scene: Aidan, curled up under the soft blanket, face half-buried in his pillow; long, silky ebony hair flowing over his bare shoulders, cascading down his smooth neck and back. A perfect vision, one he clung to until the moment he reached the living room and noticed with a start that the couch was --

_ Empty _ . 

The flannel blanket had been folded up neatly and placed next to the sofa on the floor. The pillows and cushions had been arranged exactly as they were before Aidan's visit. In fact, there was no evidence at all that the dancer had ever been there, and Símon wondered fleetingly if it had all somehow been nothing more than a dream. But that couldn't be true; he could still feel Aidan's touch on his chest, still smell him on his shirt and in his hair. 

So where was he? A million thoughts ran through the Italian's mind at once.  _ Where did he go? When did he leave? Is he safe? _ Followed by:  _ Why would he have just left like that? Does he hate me? Didn't he want breakfast...? _ And finally:

_ Will I ever see him again? _

The last question seemed to echo within and around him, filling the room with a sudden chilling darkness. The idea of having lost Aidan already, before he could even begin to understand what it was that drew them together, was unbearable. He would have to go back to the Raven, to find him all over again. He'd have to...because he needed him.

It was only then, standing alone in the empty room, that he heard the sweet melody of running water from the bathroom down the hall. Water splashing against tile. A cool wave of relief spread through Símon, escaping as a soft sigh into the air. Aidan hadn't left after all - he was taking a shower.

The Italian chuckled quietly to himself to relieve some of the tension of the moment. He supposed this is what his friends meant when they told him he was quick to panic. What would Jon say if he could have seen him just then? 

Wait…

Jon.

_ Oh, shit! _ The calmness Símon had worked for was quickly replaced with a gripping sensation of guilt. He had completely forgotten that he'd promised Jon and Erin he would have dinner with them the night before. No doubt Jon would be pissed, especially when he found out Símon had spent his night with - of all people -  _ Aidan  _ instead of them. 

He had to call and apologize right away, even if it meant he would have to sit through one of Jon's infamous lectures over having ditched his friends.

He cast a shy glance down the hall at the bathroom door, as if checking to make sure it, along with the dancer inside, wouldn't vanish as soon as he turned his back. Satisfied that the room was securely attached to the rest of his house, Símon headed into the kitchen and grabbed his phone from the charger. Usually, the line seemed to ring for ages before he could hear any voices on the other end. Now, he almost hoped to get Jon’s voicemail. Or at least Erin.

"Uh. Yeah?" It was most definitely Jon.

"Uh, hey," Símon began awkwardly. "Morning?"

"...Ze? Ze, is that you? Where the hell are you?" Jon sounded both irritated and worried all at once, a skill he'd come to master in the two years since he'd met Símon. "Why didn't you call last night?!"

"Listen, I know you were probably worried, but - ," the Italian began, trying hard not to sound too pleading. Jon didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence.

"Damn right we were worried!" Now he just sounded irritated. "We thought something might have happened with Aidan!"

Símon had to pause for a moment. How was he supposed to respond to that? Yes, something  _ had  _ happened with Aidan, but certainly not the something Jon probably meant. His friend had already made it perfectly clear what he thought of the dancer. 

"Um, actually...," Símon began, searching desperately for the right words. "That's what I was calling to tell you about. I invited Aidan over to the house yesterday, and I guess I just completely lost track of time." 

"Hang on, you mean you had that w- ... _ Aidan _ at your place all night?" The surprise in his friend's voice was unmistakable. 

"Yeah. He slept over, actually. He's in the shower right now." 

There was an awkward silence as Símon slowly began to realize how that sounded. He blushed deeply, glad his friend couldn’t see it, and quickly tried to recover. "I-it's not what you're thinking! We didn't - !"

"Hey, Ze. You got any towels?" 

Símon whirled around at the sudden question, and very nearly felt his heart stop at the sight that greeted him. The phone dropped from his hand as he stumbled back against the kitchen counter. Utterly breathless. "Oh...my... _ God... _ ."

Aidan was standing there in the door frame between the kitchen and the living room, watching the Italian through the curtain of sleek, ebony hair cascading over one side of his face. Small droplets of water trickled from the tips, pooling in a growing puddle around his bare feet. He had just stepped out of the shower. 

And he was completely naked.

He ran thin fingers back through his mane, exposing even more of his pale, glistening skin while his audience eagerly looked on. A half-cocked smirk graced his lips. Shifting his weight to one leg, Aidan casually leaned against the doorframe and jutted out his hips a bit more to further capture his host's attention. "Ze?" Símon shivered at the sound of his name, still allowing his eyes to travel over Aidan's body. His smooth chest, his slender stomach, his pale hips, his....

" _ Oh, God," _ he breathed again, gripping the counter behind him for support lest his trembling knees fail him. He gulped slowly. Before him stood the most beautiful, perfect image he had ever seen. Forget those marble statues of handsome, well-built Greek athletes; Aidan was the one who truly deserved to be immortalized in stone. 

Jon's tiny, shrill voice issued from the abandoned phone on the kitchen floor, the only sound in the room aside from the faint  _ drip-drip _ of water droplets continuing to fall from Aidan's body. The dancer took a step forward, and Símon immediately backed into the counter.

"Well?" Aidan pressed, still making his way further into the kitchen. 

Símon hesitated for a moment while he tried to find his voice. "S-sorry...?" he stammered, trying desperately to keep his gaze fixed above the other male's shoulders. Had Aidan asked a question.

"Do you have any towels?" The dancer was all but on top of him now, close enough to feel the Italian's soft panting against his neck. He reached out and gently set a hand on Símon's chest as he leaned closer. “You know. For drying off?"

"Th…. The closet.... I-in the hallway...," Símon managed to choke out. A tender heat had begun spreading through him from the spot where Aidan's hand lay, and it was all he could do not to wrap his arms around that slender waist and shout to the heavens,  _ I've found him - I’ve found my angel! _

Suddenly, without warning, Aidan leaned forward to brush his lips over Símon's, letting his tongue flick out playfully as if to taste him. "Thanks." And then he was off, padding back down the hall toward the bathroom.

Símon had never felt so weak in his life. His knees finally lost the strength to support him, and he released the breath he'd been holding as he slid slowly along the counter to the kitchen floor.

" _ Ze? Ze?! Are you still there?!"  _

The Italian reached over and tapped the screen of his phone, abruptly cutting off Jon's shrill voice. "...I'll call you back."

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Aidan, going back to the Raven is hard even after only one night in Ze's company. Especially when every one there is betting against him to fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drum roll* Introducing Malcolm! The Raven's resident bitch-persona bartender. I love him. I really, really do. (I am also a horrible judge of character)

**** The drive back to The Raven was both unbearably long and far too short at the same time. Aidan spent most of the ride staring silently out of the passenger window, frowning at nothing in particular as the minutes trudged by. The further they got from Símon's house, the more detached he seemed to become from everything around him. 

In reality, it only took about twenty minutes to reach the club. Símon pulled up next to the sidewalk in front of the dismal building with the black bird painted on the front door, and Aidan slowly stepped out of the car. He ran a hand idly over the front of the loose, white button-up shirt Símon had lent him, then sighed and began to head up to the door. He'd planned to just walk straight inside, without a second glance or last word to the strange Italian; he just wanted to forget about him, his house, his kindness. But, of course, those kinds of plans almost always failed.

"When can I see you again?" Símon had apparently gotten out of the car as well, and now stood with his door wide open in the street as he watched Aidan walk away. He had an odd expression on his face, a combination of embarrassment, hope, and fear. 

The dancer stopped, clenched his eyes for a split second as if he'd been dreading those words, and turned slowly to face him.

_ Leave me the hell alone,  _ he wanted to shout.  _ Just forget about me. Go back to your normal house and your normal school. Save yourself. _

But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Somehow, he knew it would actually hurt the kid if he told him he never wanted to see him again. And, deep down, he knew it would be a lie, anyway. 

"...I'll be here 'til midnight," he said finally, mentally cursing himself for his weakness. "You can pick me up. If you want."

Símon flashed him such a genuine smile then that Aidan actually felt his cheeks grow warm. "Midnight, then. It's a date." Then he smiled again and slipped back into the driver's seat. A moment later he was pulling away, with Aidan rooted to the spot as he watched him drive off. The dancer stood outside for what seemed an eternity, waiting until the small black car turned out of sight several blocks away before daring to breathe again. 

_ This is insane _ , he told himself, shaking his head.  _ You have no idea what you're getting yourself into _ . He turned back around, once again heading for the all-too familiar entrance of the Raven. He reached for the handle, then, with a sudden and powerful sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he thought, _ You have no idea what you're getting  _ him _ into. _

Guilt and shame swept over him, and for an instant he thought he might vomit. Was this how he really repaid someone who'd saved his life? By letting him get his hopes up? By setting up heart for a lethal fall? Aidan knew that as soon as Símon -  _ Ze _ \- learned the truth about who he was, he'd regret ever having helped him. No matter how compassionate and naive the young Italian might be, no one could really love a whore. 

Several minutes passed before Aidan realized he was still standing outside, his thin fingers hovering just over the handle of the door. His eyes were stinging with unshed tears, and he fiercely blinked them away before he rested his hand firmly on the metal knob and turned. 

A loud blast of hard techno greeted his ears as soon as he stepped inside, pushing back all thoughts of Símon for the time being. The dancer glanced around the impossibly large room, taking in the pulsating lights, the early crowd at the bar, and the two handsome boys warming up together along the Flight in matching silver tube tops and skirts. Nothing inside the Raven had changed. And had he really expected it to? He'd only been gone a day.

Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something felt different. Maybe it was him. 

_ Or maybe _ , he frowned _ , you just need a good drink _ . 

Tearing his eyes away from the catwalk, he headed over to the bar and took an empty seat away from one of the overhead black lights. The sinking in his gut grew as some of the patrons turned to him and grinned in recognition, a few brave enough to shoot him a lecherous wink. He grimaced and turned to hide his face behind a curtain of ebony hair, staring hard down at the countertop.  

"Aidan?" came a sudden, harsh, and disappointingly familiar voice in front of him. He narrowed his eyes before glancing up at Malcolm Konnighan, the sadistic bartender whose fake lisp had always made Aidan want nothing more than to snap his neck. 

Malcolm met the dancer's shadowed eyes with a smirk. He was a short man, with bleached blond hair cut to fall (unattractively) over the right side of his face. He always wore an unseemly amount of makeup, especially lip gloss; Aidan assumed this was to counter the dull grey of his eyes, which made him look not only unintelligent, but bitter at the same time. 

And, at least to the ebony-haired dancer, he made it a point to be just that.

"So, you  _ are _ still alive," he observed cheerily, setting a shot glass on the counter in front of Aidan. "How surprising. We all had a bet going that you'd finally picked the wrong guy to fuck with. ...So to speak." He filled the glass with some sort of orange-red liquid, which the dancer downed as quickly as humanly possible. Malcolm filled it again with equal speed.

"Is Branden here?" Aidan asked quietly, clenching his fist in his lap to keep it from accidentally breaking the other man's jaw. 

"In his office, I assume. Why so eager to see the boss, Aidy?" Aidan's knuckles went white under the counter. "Perhaps you’re worried that you might not be on payroll anymore?" The bartender leaned a bit closer, the dark mirth quite obvious in his unfriendly smile. "I'd be worried, too, if I were you. Chase is tired of your shit. He can be forgiving for only so long, you know. In fact, I'm surprised he hasn't already tossed your sorry ass - "

" _ Fuck you. _ " 

The words were like ice on Aidan's tongue as he spat them at that self-assured bitch, and it took all the strength he had left to simply stand up and walk away from the bar without breaking the shot glass in his face. No, a stunt like that would have not only guaranteed he'd lose his job, but he'd likely wind up in prison to top it all off. He didn't need that right now, as satisfying as it would have been to see Malcolm bleeding all over his precious counter.

Instead, he headed across to the double metal doors on the far side of the room. They were labeled "employees only," and led to the changing rooms, the storage rooms, and the manager's office. The last was where Aidan was going, and where his fate would be decided within the hour. He sighed, stepped through the door, then headed right down the dimly-lit hallway

 

The day seemed as though it would never end. Símon glanced at the clock above the couch as often as he dared, but each time only a few minutes had passed since his last check. _ Only eight hours and forty-six minutes left, _ he thought wryly to himself, and sighed as he stretched out on the couch. Subconsciously, his fingers tightened around the hem of the blanket in his lap, the only proof now that Aidan's visit hadn't just been a dream. The fabric still held the dancer’s scent - a dusky mix of smoke and leather - that reminded him long hair and bright eyes, of lips far softer than he could have imagined. It was as if he could still taste him, and that, more than anything had him anxiously awaiting the end of Aidan’s shift.

It was a little after three thirty when Símon finally decided to get up again. Wendy, he guessed, was probably on the verge of smashing his projects to bits if she hadn’t already , and he really needed to call Jon back. He was sure his friend would be worried after the fiasco that morning. Actually, he half-expected both Jon and Erin to show up on his doorstep any minute to make sure he was still breathing. He grinned to himself at the thought as he pulled his phone out of his pocket again. 

His school work could wait for now.

He waited through three rings before Erin's soft voice answered. "H-hello?"

"Hey, Erin! How goes it?" Símon was relieved to hear his voice.At least Erin wasn't going to start yelling at him right away. Probably.

"O-oh, Ze! Good aftern...nnh...noon.... Jon, stop that! Uh, s-sorry, Jon's a little...preoccupied right now, Ze...."

Símon could only imagine. "Okay, I get it. Just let him know I'm still alive, then, yeah?"

"Alright! Bye, Z -- ! M-mmmh....!"  _ Click _ . 

Símon caught the clock on his screen before he dropped it into his lap.  _ Three forty-four _ . Lot of good that had done him. The Italian let out a sigh, his head back into the pillows as he tried to think of a way to make time pass by faster. He knew it would be hard to get any real work done, since all he could concentrate on for more than five minutes was the thought of seeing Aidan again that night.

He considered for a fleeting moment going back to the Raven, of going to visit the dancer on his break and maybe taking him something to eat for lunch. He was bound to be hungry by now, despite the three pieces of toast he'd had that morning before they left. Then Símon realized that Aidan probably wouldn't want to see him any more than he absolutely had to in one day, and he certainly didn't want to ruin his chances of getting to pick him up after work. 

Sigh.  _ Only eight hours, fourteen minutes left.... _

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan needs his job at the Raven, shitty as it may be. Even worse, however, is the price he has to pay in order to keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy!  
> Not the good kind though.  
> Introducing Branden Chase, owner of the Raven and certified Dick.

**** Just as the Raven wasn't at all the typical description of the average strip club, its owner, Branden Chase, wasn't at all the overweight, unwashed slimeball most might imagine to be the manager of one. He was relatively young, only thirty-two, worked out in his free time, and always made it a point to show up to work dressed like the businessman he fancied himself to be some day. His short, wavy brown hair was always combed neatly behind his ears which, in contrast to the rest of his appearance, had several piercings along each rim. He also hadn't quite settled on a preferred orientation just yet, and thus was known to go after nearly anything with a pulse. Aidan had heard him described as the personification of that point in life where one is ready to become a man, yet can't seem to let go of the wild teenager inside. 

The dancer knocked softly on the door of Branden's office, groaning internally when the manager's deep voice told him to come in. He entered slowly to find Branden in his office chair, feet propped up on the desk as he casually thumbed through an issue of  _ Tits Weekly _ . Chase looked up, blinked in evident surprise at seeing the dancer in one piece, and set his magazine down where his feet had been resting a moment before.

"Aidan." His green-gold eyes quickly scanned over the pale dancer’s body before settling back on his face. "I heard about what happened the other night. Are you feeling better?"

Aidan nodded curtly, inwardly cursing his boss for being so blunt. "Yeah, I'm alright. Look, about that...." But Branden cut him off.

"Here, have a seat first. You don't look so well. Wouldn’t want you passing out on my office floor," he smiled, directing Aidan to the slate office chair on the other side of the desk. He'd meant that to be a joke, and Aidan managed a choked laugh despite the way his words had cut into his flesh. He sat down, gratefully for his legs had begun shaking, and looked up at the man before him. This was it.

"So. I know I've been more trouble than I'm worth lately," he began, gaze dropping to stare at the surface of the desk. "I'm...sorry for what happened the other night on stage, and I'm sorry for skipping out yesterday. ...And for always showing up late to work. For treating the other guys like shit, and for being a complete and total wreck most of the time. But please.... I  _ need _ this job." Aidan held his breath, waiting for his judgement. He knew he'd screwed up, knew he didn't deserve a second chance. 

Branden watched him carefully, his expression unreadable while he mulled over Aidan's plea. It came as a shock to him, actually, to see the dancer this desperate. He didn't know Aidan well on a personal level, and certainly regretted that, but he'd always gotten the impression that he was cold and distant, always a loner. In the few times they'd ever spoken in his office like this, Aidan had never seemed to really listen to what he was saying, instead always staring at one of the dying plants in the corner as if he could switch places with it if only he stared long enough.

But now, he was here to beg forgiveness. 

True, Branden had thought about firing Aidan several times. This hadn't been the first incident where he'd collapsed on stage, nor was it the first time he'd missed a day, or even a whole week of work. And, of course, there was always the matter of the  _ extra services _ he supplied in the back parking lot. Still, he was undeniably the best and most popular dancer he had, and he certainly brought in a lot of money on the nights he did show up. Branden sighed.

"I'm not sure what to say, Aidan. That was a pretty impressive list of reasons why I should probably start putting in ads for your replacement," he said, not bothering to keep his gaze above the dancer's shoulders. Even wearing a plain, loose-fitting shirt, Aidan's body still managed to catch - and hold - his attention. His let his eyes wander over that beautiful frame as he spoke, and couldn't keep a small smirk from tainting his lips. He knew so many others must have tasted that pale flesh, but why hadn't he ever been given the chance?

"I understand that. But I can't lose this job. It's all I've got." Aidan sighed and tilted his head back up. Stopped short. He recognized the look on the other man's face at once, a look of more-than-casual interest, and felt himself tense.  _ No _ , he screamed to himself.  _ No, no, no...! Fuck you, Chase, don't do this! _ But his throat had gone completely dry, his voice had abandoned him. He was frozen.

Branden looked back up slowly, and gave a wry smile. Somehow, his eyes seemed darker than they had only a few minutes ago. "I know, Aidan. I’m not going to fire you."

"...But?" the dancer choked, that sickening feeling in his stomach returning full force. Branden stood up, walked to his door, and flipped the lock. All remnants of the concerned, almost paternal boss who'd first welcomed Aidan into the office were gone now.  _ This _ Branden was no better than the dirty lechers who came to watch Aidan dance, and then waited for him outside after the show.

The ebony haired dancer stood up abruptly, probably a bad idea given the way his body was trembling, and glared hard at his boss. "Let me out," he said as calmly as possible. But Branden only grinned and started toward him, idly loosening his tie as he walked.

"You can drop the pride act, Aidan. You can't tell me you're actually surprised? I should think you've gotten pretty used to this by now."

Aidan's stone expression faltered a bit. Deep down, he knew Branden was right. Had he really changed so much in one day that he'd come to expect to be treated like a human being?

Branden's hand moved up and cupped the dancer's chin, tilted his face up until their eyes met. The older man was saying something, but Aidan could barely hear him over the voice screaming in his head. He closed his eyes, took in a shuddering breath, and, just as he'd always done before, just as he always would do, he gave in.

Warm lips pressed insistently against his as his boss's arm snaked about his waist to draw him close, easily closing the gap between their bodies. Aidan could feel the evidence of Branden's lust pressing against his hip through the fabric of both their pants, and his own body acted in turn despite his revulsion. Branden seemed to notice this as well, and ground his pelvis against Aidan's as his tongue pushed its way past his lips. The older man groaned deeply at the first taste, the first  _ conquest _ , and instinctively tightened his arms. It was dizzying, being so aroused by his senses alone, but he supposed that was part of Aidan's job wasn't it? To drive a man so wild with passion that he'd give up every cent to his name just for a few moments of pleasure.

Fortunately for him, however, Branden wouldn't need to pay for this. He controlled Aidan's job, his future, his  _ Rend. _ This would be more than a fair exchange to secure those three things. 

He took a step back, licked his lips slowly as his eyes raked over his dancer’s body. "Take off your shirt." His voice was calm but still carried a certain command to it, and Aidan did as he was told. Branden watched eagerly as he undid the first two buttons, then continued to move down, the shirt slipping open as he did to reveal the smooth, pale plane of flesh beneath. When he was finished, Aidan set the shirt -  _ Símon's shirt _ \- over the back of the chair behind him, and lifted his arms over his head. There was no use in trying to fight this. He just wanted it to end as quickly as possible. 

The older man moved next to him again, one hand resting firmly on his hip as the other worked to slip his tie from around his own neck. His eyes, meanwhile, licked over every inch of Aidan's exposed skin. His slender neck, his narrow shoulders, his flat chest and stomach, that thin line of dark hair that disappeared under the hem of his black leather pants.  _ All in good time _ , he assured himself.

Once he'd removed his tie, he calmly reached up to bind Aidan's wrists above his head. Satisfied the knot was tight enough, he wrapped his arms around his waist again and leaned in to run his tongue slowly along the curve of his throat. It tasted even more delicious than his mouth, if possible. Branden craved more of it instantly, and forced Aidan to tilt his head back as he sucked greedily at pale skin. His mouth left searing red marks as he traveled down to the junction between the dancer's neck and shoulder, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered but devouring every inch of the prize in his arms. 

Aidan let out a strangled moan, clenching his fingers around the fabric of the tie as Branden bit down on his collarbone. It wasn't the pain that bothered him so much. No, that he was used to. It was the frustration of knowing Branden planned to drag this out, to make full use of his body and humiliate him as slowly as he could. To make him beg for mercy.

Again Branden bit down hard on soft flesh, and again he was rewarded with that noise from Aidan's throat that was sending shivers down his spine. He suckled hungrily on the spot where his teeth had nearly punctured the skin, until he could taste the coppery lifeblood on his tongue and lips. He pulled back to watch the red liquid collect at the surface of the wound, and then slowly roll down to Aidan's chest, forming a crimson brand to mark his territory. 

Filled with a renewed sensation of lust, and a sudden need to be inside that slender body, Branden make quick work of the rest of Aidan's chest and stomach. He flicked his tongue over one nipple while his forefinger and thumb pinched and teased the other with practiced skill. He was coaxing a steady flow of low moans and slurred curses from the dancer’s lips now, all of which only helped to fuel his passion. Before long, his tongue was expertly dipping in and out of Aidan's navel as his fingers worked to first unzip, then remove his pants. 

He stood up slowly, smirking as he surveyed his work. Aidan was breathing heavily now, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his eyes half-open and fixed on the floor. Branden let his eyes drift down to slender hips and felt quite satisfied with himself at the sight of Aidan's fully erect cock. He really was beautiful, especially like this. No wonder he was so successful as a whore.

Brander lowered Aidan's hands and smiled, leaning forward to briefly run his tongue over lips drawn in a tight line. Then he placed a hand on the dancer’s shoulder and guided him down onto his knees. Not that Aidan needed to be told what to do, really. He was all too familiar with the rules of this game. 

Trying hard to focus his mind on something other than his boss, Aidan let his bound hands set to work on first unbuckling Branden's belt, and then opening his jeans. He reached into the top of the man's boxers and released his throbbing cock. Shuddered before he leaning forward to wrap his mouth around the head. He refused to waste time trying to pleasure the bastard, and instead concentrated on wetting as much of the hard flesh as he could with his tongue. If only to help to lessen the pain.

Branden groaned anyway, clearly not caring that Aidan wasn't giving his best performance as he rocked in and out of that warm mouth. He'd tangled the fingers of both hands in dark, silken hair, and was using the pressure to push himself further down Aidan’s throat with every pass. Far too soon he felt himself begin to tense, and pulled away before he could spend himself too quickly. 

"Up," he commanded in a low voice, more impatient now than ever to claim his prize. He pulled Aidan to his feet, led him with fingers curled around his chin to the far side of his desk where he hastily withdrew something from a drawer.  The tell-tale crinkling of a wrapper, then the dancer let out a gasp as he was roughly shoved against the surface of the desk. His arms, wrists still bound together, stretched out in front of him, and his back arched perfectly to align with Branden's hips. It was as if the desk in his office had been built for just such an occasion. Not that it would have surprised him.

Aidan clenched his eyes shut tight as he felt large hands grip either side of his hips and move him into place. Branden rubbed his thumbs over the smooth mounds of Aidan's ass, reveling in their perfect firmness before gently spreading them and placing the head of his cock against the opening there. He took a deep breath, grazing his eyes slowly over the whore's pale, toned back one more time, and then plunged inside. 

The pain was all he could see for a few seconds, a hot, searing pain spreading through every nerve of his body. Even the slick condom did little to ease the way Brandon’s cock tore into his body, deeper, unrelenting. Not until he was fully seated did the bright lights begin to fade from Aidan’s vision, and he felt he could breathe again if only in short gasps. "Relax," he heard the older man sneer, but his voice was on the very edge of his consciousness. Thick arms, still fully clothed, encircled his waist, held him steady as Branden began to pull out and thrust into him again. But that all seemed very far away. Aidan buried his face in his elbow and fought back a scream.

" _ Aidan _ ." Branden breathed his name almost lovingly, a grin forming on his parted lips as he continued to fuck the pale, slender man bending over his desk. Without even trying, Aidan was possibly the best piece of ass he'd ever had, male or female, and he suddenly regretted not having done this sooner. He leaned down to run his tongue along the outline of Aidan's spine, thrusting so hard into him he thought his desk might collapse under the pressure of their sex. But before long, he felt his thighs tense, followed by the familiar heat in his lower stomach. 

With a low groan, he arched his back as he came. Waves of pleasure racked his body, and he quickly pulled out of Aidan to let the streams splash over his back. Then at last, when he was finally finished, he sunk back into his own chair and wiped his brow.

It took Aidan considerably longer to find enough strength to stand again. He trembled as the mixture of cum, sweat, and blood trickled down his thighs, and he had to grip the edge of the desk to keep from falling over. He hated this...hated himself for always letting it happen. 

"Go get cleaned up," Branden sighed a few minutes later. His gaze was fixed on the cuffs of his shirt beneath his suit jacket, which had been pulled out of place during their activities. "You're on stage in an hour."

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan's managed to save his job, but at what cost? And to what end? He isn't sure he knows the answer anymore, and he's nearly given up trying to figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say it's about time for a hero to step in ;D  
> And for Malcolm to step OFF 
> 
> (I love him, I really do)

****Aidan gripped the cold edges of the sink until his knuckles matched the white plaster beneath them, but he still couldn't seem to keep the bathroom from spinning. For the past half hour he'd been trying desperately to scrub away the feeling of Branden's fingers and lips all over his skin, rubbing parts of his flesh raw with the effort. He knew the attempt was futile from the start, but not even trying to wash away what he'd done was an even more sickening thought than just knowing he'd done it.

_But at least you have your job, Aidan. Isn't that what you wanted?_

He sneered up at that miserable face in the mirror, at the burning crimson marks trailing over his throat, and closed his eyes. "I don't know what I want anymore."

Fifteen minutes later, he was shrugging Símon's shirt back over his shoulders as he headed out into the hall. He'd gone through an entire dispenser of paper towels, stuck his head under the faucet of the sink until he expected he might drown, and covered the marks on his neck as best he could with a small compact of foundation he'd ‘borrowed’ from the dressing room. All physical traces of Branden were gone.... So why did he get the feeling that his skin was scorched where the man had touched him?

Shaking off the discomforting sensation, Aidan put on his stoic mask and stepped through the double doors back into the main part of the club. Several eyes turned to him in recognition or curiosity, but no one seemed to care where he had been for the past hour. _Probably for the best_ , he thought, turning his gaze up to the Flight. It was empty now, the music blasting through the speakers around the room having taken over the entertainment while the dancers took a break. The bar was still near-empty, Aidan noticed, but he didn't see that snide little -

"There you are, _Aidy_." The nickname would be almost affectionate if it wasn't laced with poison every time he said it. Malcolm was suddenly standing next to him, smirking in his usual obnoxious, self-assured way. Aidan glared back in response. "I just heard from the boys backstage that you've managed to keep your job, after all."

"Sorry to disappoint you," the ebony-haired dancer said quietly, gaze once again moving around the room. Malcolm, however, continued to watch his face, a sneer fixed on his glittering lips.

"Not at all, _Aidy_ . This place wouldn't be the same without you." He took a step forward, then smiled back at Aidan with cold, grey eyes. "Just be careful from now on, hm? I doubt even an ass like yours will be enough to save you a second time." Though he said nothing more, Aidan could read the expression on his face easily. _Whore_.

With a flip of platinum blond hair, he turned again and headed back to his bar.

  


At seven o'clock, Símon decided that he couldn't wait any longer. He shoved the Psych textbook he'd been staring at for the past hour back into his bag, then grabbed his coat off the back of the chair. As long as he kept toward the back of the club, he could stay out of Aidan's way, right? The dancer would probably never even know he was there.

Before he left, he pulled the plate of food he'd saved for Aidan's dinner out of the fridge and wrapped it. If his appetite the night before was any clue, he'd be glad for the meal after work. The Italian shot himself a slight grin as he passed the mirror by the front door, then picked up his keys and headed outside.

The Raven was less crowded than it had been the last time Símon was there. When he first stepped through the wooden door with the painting of the black bird, he was surprised to see the Flight empty and dark. Instead of dancers and flashing lights, a soft techno beat was filling the atmosphere of the club, while a dozen or so men chatted idly at the bar. The Italian sighed. It was going to be much harder to blend in with the crowd when it was hardly big enough to be considered a crowd at all.

Regardless, he made his way over to the bar and took an empty seat near the end. A few curious gazes turned in his direction, but the men quickly lost interest as he continued to ignore them. His eyes were locked, instead, on the curtain at the far end of the catwalk, expecting at any second to see his beautiful, ebony haired dancer step through it.

"What’s your poison, handsome?"

Símon, startled at suddenly being addressed, turned around to face the source of the voice. And very nearly cringed at the sight. The man, he assumed him to be the bartender, had enough makeup on to make a drag queen proud, and his short, bleached hair shone almost green under the bar lights. But once the initial shock of the man's appearance had worn off, Símon was able to register the question and muster a response.

"Ah...no, thanks. I'm nineteen." He smiled weakly and made to turn back around to face the catwalk. The man, however, rested a ring-covered hand on his shoulder to hold his attention.

"I'd still be willing to make you a drink, if you make it worth my while," he smiled, flashing his blindingly white teeth. Then, leaning a little closer on the counter, he added, "I'm Malcolm. You got a name to go with that pretty face?"

Símon looked around at the other men at the bar, hoping one of them would somehow come to his rescue. None did. "Uh, Símon," he conceded finally.

"Oh, a foreign boy! How exotic," Malcolm purred. Long, hot pink-and-glitter nails began gently stroking his shoulder. "So, _Símon_.... I've never seen you around here before. What brings you to the Raven?" The Italian stared down at the other man's hand as if it was going to burst into flame at any moment, until Malcolm graciously pulled it away.

"I'm here to see someone," Símon responded firmly, taking a guilty pleasure in the look of disappointment on the bartender's face. The man backed away a little.

"I see," Malcolm said quietly. "Who, if you don't mind my asking?"

Actually, Símon did mind, but he didn't think it would really make much difference so he shrugged and glanced again at the catwalk. "Do you know Aidan?" he asked, glad for the change of subject. Malcolm, however, narrowed his eyes, a sour sneer forming on his lips.

"Who doesn't?" he muttered, and without another word moved away toward another part of the bar. While Símon certainly wasn't complaining that he was gone, he did find the response strange. Maybe it was just that Malcolm and the dancer didn't get along? But still, what exactly was that last comment intended to mean? His train of thought, however, was suddenly interrupted as the lights around  the club dimmed, and the soft techno in the background transformed into a beat more along the lines of hip-hop.

Turning in his seat, Símon's heart caught in his throat as the curtains at the end of the Flight slowly opened, revealing a tall, dark figure shrouded in shadows. The Italian recognized him even before the hazy red spotlight switched on overhead and cast the beautiful dancer in a crimson glow.

Aidan had his head bowed, his river of long, ebon hair flowing down to hide his face. He was wearing the same black leather pants he'd had on the night Símon had met him, and the tight, lustrous material blazed under the red light. Even his skin, normally so pale, radiated with an almost visible heat, a sight so incredibly perfect it caught the attention of every person in the room.

Several minutes passed, but Aidan continued to stand there, stock still in the light. The music was playing, all eyes were turned to him. Everyone waiting with bated breath. Yet still he didn't move. A soft murmur started in the small crowd, and Símon began to feel his heart race. Was something wrong? Had Aidan gotten sick again?

He gripped the seat of his stool, fighting back the urge to rush to the dancer's aid.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Ze witnesses on the Flight serves as a cold, hard reminder of just how out of his element he really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise things are going to get better for Aidan soon :)  
> Then worse again.  
> Then better.  
> Then far, far worse.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't shut off his mind, couldn't force his body out onto that stage again. Not tonight. He shivered despite the stifling heat of the room. Already he could sense their hungry eyes on him, roaming over his skin, devouring him slowly to the beat of the droning music. It was torture, it always had been, and it killed him a little more each time he had to submit to it. Goddammit, he couldn’t do it anymore!

But as he stood there, the heat from the spotlight drawing small beads of perspiration to the surface of his skin, he realized he'd long since given up the right to make that decision. His contract with Branden may as well have been a contract with the devil himself. His soul belonged to the sick bastard sitting back there in that office, probably still licking the taste of their sex off his fingertips. If he tried to stop it all now, he had no doubt Branden would have him crawling back in on his knees to beg for his job again within the week. He'd said it himself only an hour ago. He was helpless. 

Swallowing whatever traces of pride he still had left, Aidan forced himself to look up. A silence descended in the room, replacing the hushed whispers that had grown to a din while the dancer struggled with himself. All at once, he was the center of attention. The very walls were watching him.

He took a step forward, the movement so fluid it was as though he were floating. Another step, then another, and he was gaining speed toward the end of the Flight. They were all silent now, entranced by the dancer's graceful advance. He even heard their breaths catch in their throats as he jumped - 

\- and wrapped his fingers around the cold metal of the pole. His body was set into a sort of orbit and, curling his right leg around the pole for support, he leaned out as far as he could, arching his spine smoothly. He spiraled slowly down to the stage, waiting until his shoulders touched the floor before languidly releasing the pole and extending his arms gracefully toward the ceiling. 

In the background, the pumping rhythm of the music was sending subtle vibrations through the air, filling the room with a different kind of heat. Aidan continued to lie on the stage for several moments, letting his body move slowly to the music. His hips ground up in an all-too-familiar motion against the air as he brought his hands back down to idly stroke his chest and stomach. His fingers slid lower and lower down his body, leading his captive audience's gazes right where they wanted to go. 

Símon couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but stare in a mix of disgust and desire as Aidan enchanted all those men. What was wrong with him? He knew this was Aidan's job, he'd seen him do it before. So why did he feel so... _ jealous _ ? He didn't like how they were all staring at him, drooling over his body as though imagining how he must taste. Sure, he was incredibly beautiful, and never in his life had the Italian seen anyone move quite like that. But Aidan wasn't an object for their entertainment. He was a goddamn human being!

And yet, even  _ he  _ couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the ebony-haired dancer. It wasn't his body he was watching, though, like all the others; no, Símon's gaze was locked on his eyes. Aidan seemed so distant when he was dancing, as if his mind was somewhere far, far away from the stage, the lights, the music. He remembered that look, actually. It was the same one Aidan had given him the first night they'd met, when the dancer had collapsed in his arms. Had it really only been two days ago? Aidan had opened his eyes ever so slightly, smiled, and thanked him - for what, Símon had yet to determine. But seeing the same look on his face now made the Italian realize how deeply Aidan’s dissonance with all of this ran. If only, he thought, there was some way he could help.

Suddenly, Ze’s concentration was shattered as Aidan began to sit up, keeping one arm behind him as he posed for the jeering men around the stage. The dancer rose gracefully to his feet and moved to straddle the pole in front of him, gripping the bar tight with one hand as he started to grind his hips against it. Several of the men cheered or whistled, but Aidan didn't seem to be paying any them any mind. He was still focusing on trying to disappear.

"How about a kiss, sweetheart?" someone in the crowd catcalled. He was ignored, of course, until next to the stage a hand appeared, waving a green bill temptingly in the air.  _ That  _ seemed to capture the dancer's attention. Stepping slowly away from the pole, Aidan made his way over to the man and kneeled at the very edge of the stage before him. He grabbed the drab tie hanging just under the man’s throat, pulled him forward until their lips were only inches apart. Suddenly, gazing up into Aidan's eyes, the man lost his nerve. Simply melted under the beautiful, deadly glare. Aidan reached down to curl his fingers idly around the man's wrist, drawing it slowly up to the hem of his low-cut pants before dipping it, money and all, into the front. The man was utterly speechless, as were most of the others around him. Some began digging through their wallets in hopes of getting the same treatment.

"Thanks," Aidan muttered as he released the tie. He quickly removed the man’s hand, minus the bill of course, from his pants and pulled away to resume his dance. 

That's when he made the mistake of scanning the crowd - and his eyes fell on Símon.

The Italian was standing at the back of crowd, unmoving, a look of pain and shock written all over his features. The dancer's heart, which had soared at the first sight of him suddenly crashed. What the hell was he doing here? Why was he giving him that look? And how much of the show had he seen? Aidan froze on the stage, mind and blood racing, as waves of guilt and confusion washed over him.  _ What now? _

Unable to stand Ze’s wounded eyes on him any longer, Aidan took a step back, then turned completely and ran off the stage. 

The audience watched him disappear behind the curtains, waiting a few moments in silence before bursting out in a confused roar. Símon barely noticed. He was rooted to the spot, terrified that his worst fear had just come true: that he'd gotten in Aidan's way, and now he was gone.

He hesitated for a second more. Slipped away from the crowd and headed at once for the Employees Only exit in the back, determined to follow his dancer no matter the risks.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither Aidan nor Ze can think straight when everything hurts so much. But sometimes, thinking is a problem in and of itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Thank you soooo much for reading *heart*)

The door slammed shut behind him, and he flinched at the _bang_. The room itself was deadly quiet. Two of the other dancers had been called off to take the empty stage before the audience got out of hand, so he was left alone in the small dressing room. Well, not completely alone. There was always that pale, ugly ghost watching him in the mirror.

Aidan shuddered and made his way over to the cot in the corner. He needed to sit down before his legs gave out beneath him. Why was he shaking so badly? He fumbled around in his pockets for a cigarette, but to no avail. He'd have to buy more later with the.... He reached into his pants and drew out the bill he'd collected from the man with the tie.

...One dollar. One _fucking_ dollar.

He hurled the crumpled bill to the floor, covered his mouth with his hand as he let out a dry sob. What the hell was the point of it all? He'd let Branden fuck him in order to save his job, and for what? So sleazy assholes could ogle and touch him for pocket change? And then there was Símon, the only one who bothered to show him real kindness, and now he had seen the disgusting truth. It was over. He should have died that night he'd collapsed on stage.

There was a soft knock on the door, but Aidan ignored it. He honestly didn't give a fuck if one of the queens needed to use the dressing room. He needed to be alone, needed some time to think. Exposed, shivering, he snatched up his borrowed shirt from a hanger on the wall and slung it over his shoulders, not caring enough to bother with the buttons.

After a long moment of silence, the knob slowly began to turn and the door swung open a couple of inches. "...Aidan?" The top of Símon’s head popped into the dim room and he frowned. "Can I come in?"

The dancer trembled slightly as he stared up at him. What the hell was Ze even still doing here? All at once he felt relieved, angry, warm, empty. He couldn't find the words to reply, so he simply nodded his head once. It was enough.

The Italian stepped quietly inside, careful to shut the door behind him. After hesitating a moment, he made his way over to the cot and sat down next to Aidan. Neither spoke. Neither knew what to say.

Símon bit his lip as he stared at the waterfall of black hair hiding the dancer's face from view. He knew he had no right to get jealous when he saw Aidan with that other man. After all, they'd only just met, and despite what Jon likely assumed, were just friends. It didn't matter how he felt - or thought he felt - about the dancer. He was only getting in the way.

Aidan couldn't stand the silence, the feeling that Símon was sitting there judging him. Why the hell had he come back? As if showing up to the club in the first place hadn't been bad enough. Now the Italian was only making the sinking feeling in his stomach worse by the second. But it wasn't really Símon's fault, was it? Who could blame him for feeling disgusted by such a pathetic existence ? Whatever illusion he'd had of Aidan since that first night had been shattered. How could it not?

The silence grew palpable. Unable to bear it any longer, it was Símon who finally tried to break the silence. He cleared his throat, gaze locked on his feet as he spoke. _Here goes_. "I’m sorry, Aidan," he began awkwardly. "I knew I shouldn't have come. That I'd just be a bother. But I had to see you."

He was blushing faintly now, his heart racing. Aidan could practically feel his pulse through the few inches of space between them. The dancer glanced up and watched him closely, not quite understanding what was going on. Why was Símon apologizing to _him_? Wasn't he the one who had fucked things up?

And yet like everything about the unlikely Italian kid so far, as much as it confused him, it also made him feel somehow more human. No one else had come to find him after he'd run off the stage. No one else would be sitting here apologizing to him rather than trying to blame him for everything that had gone wrong. No one else cared enough.

Símon was still fumbling with his apology, but Aidan wasn't listening anymore. He felt twenty years worth of hot, stinging tears building up behind his eyes, threatening at any second to break through the dam of his usually stoic nature. Then, before he even knew what he was doing, he threw himself at the other man, wrapped his arms so tight around his shoulders that he wondered if he'd ever be able to let go, and kissed him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tender moment leaves Aidan feeling exposed. As his world starts to crumble in around him, he has a choice - push Ze away, or let him in to see the real monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know what to say except... I realize this is moving slow and they've been trapped in a glass cage of emotion for a while. And for a couple more chapters. But it's important for them to work out the kinks now while their biggest problem is learning to embrace their own hearts.  
> (Oh, but I did go back and make a minor edit to ch 13 to that Aidan is now wearing a shirt. Lol)

**** Within seconds, Símon's arms were wrapped around the dancer's waist. Words were forgotten as their lips moved together, something slow, chaste, yet powerful enough to still the air around them. Símon could feel Aidan's tears running down his cheeks, dripping onto the front of his shirt, and he held the slender man closer as instinct took hold. 

Several moments passed. The music from the main part of the club floated down the hallway to the dressing room, the bass pumping the very air in a vibrant rhythm. Finally, lungs burning and fingers trembling, Aidan drew away from Símon's lips as far as he dared. His eyes were stinging from the tears, his head was pounding. His body felt so tired, so weak. If not for the arms still wrapped around his body, he'd likely have collapsed right there in the middle of the floor. Only Símon kept him from giving in.

"Aidan?" The voice was so close it made him start. He lifted his gaze to meet Ze’s, and felt a new wave of tears begin to surface. It was almost frightening how easily this man's green-blue stare could break through all of his defenses at once and see right into him. 

"...I'm sorry," the dancer choked out, forcing his gaze away once more as he tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. "I don't know why I did that." 

There was suddenly a warm thumb brushing along the ridge of his cheek, wiping away the remnants of his tears. "It's okay. I’m kinda glad you did." Símon smiled, hugging the dancer back down against him. “ _ Really _ glad.” Aidan didn't bother to resist. Why should he? With Símon's arms around him, he felt safer than he had in a long time.

The dancer laid his head down on a welcoming shoulder as Símon began to rock him slowly, a comforting motion that might have felt childish if he hadn’t needed it so desperately. Ze was so warm, so soft. Aidan didn't want to let go. Outside of this kid who had so suddenly come into  his life, the world was dark and miserable. Everyone lied, stole, cheated, raped. Hurt. It was disgusting, and the despair of it had long weighed on Aidan’s shoulders.

But at that moment, curled against Símon's body, the burden seemed somehow lighter, less crushing. Aidan could breathe. With the beginnings of a weak smile he buried his face in the Italian's shirt, felt the other man's arms fold protectively around him. It was soothing. The rest of the world could go fuck itself for all he cared in that moment.

Then, suddenly, a loud  _ boom _ as the door slammed open hard enough to bounce off the opposite wall. Both Aidan and Símon bolted up as Djon’s figure appeared in the frame. He seemed out of breath, his forehead drenched in a cold sweat as his eyes scanned the room. "Aidan, you back here? What the hell happened out -  _ Oh."  _

The mixer fell into a stuttering silence once his eyes adjusted to the darkness and landed on the scene before him. There was Aidan, half-undressed with his arms wrapped around some dude’s chest, practically sitting in his lap on the small cot. He read into the situation with record speed, felt his heart sink and his fingers clench into fists at his sides.

"Uh. Sorry, Aidan. Didn't realize you were busy. I'll just, yeah. Check back later." Djon slunk out of sight as quickly as he'd appeared, closing the door tight behind him. He leaned back against the wall and, feeling like an ass, let out a sigh. At least Aidan was still alive. He’d watched him run off the stage, had gone chasing after him as fast as he could switch his set list to autoplay. 

Only. Well. He'd expected to find him collapsed somewhere, or possibly getting sick in one of the back rooms. What he hadn't expected was that Aidan would be with one of his client's so soon after the incident.  _ Or maybe....  _ Djon shot a glance back over his shoulder. The guy Aidan was with, hadn't he seen him somewhere before? It couldn't have been that same weird kid that had shown up at the Raven two days ago, could it? 

The mixer shook his head, forcing his eyes away from the door. It was none of his business, after all. Aidan 's life was his own, no one else had the right to interfere. As much as it pained him to watch Aidan put himself through hell again and again, those choices were for him - and only him - to make. 

Djon sighed again. Turned and began to shuffle back toward the main room, shaking his head as his fists tightened in his pockets. "Some damn friend I am."

 

Aidan stared at the door long after he was certain it wasn't going to burst open again. In the brief moment Djon had seen them, the dancer suddenly felt as if his entire world had been exposed. He’d let down his guard for only a moment, but it had been a moment too long. 

Cheeks flushed with rare embarrassment, he gathered the open ends of his shirt and pushed Ze away. The arm’s length between them could have been a mile.

"Sorry," he muttered. Without looking up, he began to run his fingers back through his hair, wiping away the tears stains on his cheeks at the same time. Símon was speechless.

In the short time he'd spent with Aidan, the dancer had only shown him faint glimpses of what lay beneath the stoic surface of his emotions. Now that Aidan had revealed so much at once, the Italian wasn't quite sure how to react. His first instinct was to wrap his arms right back around him and hold him close. But he could tell from his thin frown, his body language, his averted gaze that Aidan wouldn't allow it. He'd push him away even more, put up barriers until he was shut for good. No, Aidan needed more than hear how it was all going to be okay. He needed someone to actually  _ make _ it okay. 

Even if he couldn't get through in the end, he still wanted to try.

"You don't have to apologize, Aidan," he said softly, reaching across the expanse between them to brush back the curtain of hair hiding the dancer's face. As expected, Aidan immediately flinched away. He was starting to cry again. 

"You should go.” Ze felt his breath catch in his throat. “Trust me, it’s better.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“Well you can’t stay!” Fighting back a sob, Aidan pushed himself to his feet off the edge of the cot. He swayed dangerously, threw a hand out to steady himself and caught the edge of the nearest vanity to steady himself. The move sent several bottles and jars of makeup crashing to the floor. Símon noticed that, even pressed against the wood the dancer's fist was shaking. 

"Aidan?" He was searching for the question, but the words just wouldn't come. He wasn't so much concerned with the dancer's sudden anger as he was with the way his body was trembling all over. Something was wrong. 

"I said...go h...home." Aidan faltered. His voice shook with strain. Clenching his eyes shut against the sudden and blinding pain in his temples, he took a stumbling step back from the dresser, then collapsed to his knees in the center of the room. 

Símon was behind him in a split second, limbs wrapping around his frail form to keep him upright.

"You're burning up!" The Italian could feel the heat radiating off of Aidan's skin, noticed the light sheen of sweat on his forehead, his neck. His trembling was growing violent.

"I'm fine," the dancer lied through clenched teeth. This was hardly the first time he’d crashed this bad, and it wouldn’t be the last. But before he could take care of he needed to get Ze out of his way. 

He waited a few heartbeats for the sharp pain behind his eyes to dull again, then attempted to get to his feet.

“I-I don't think you should...," Símon began, brows knit with worry as he helped Aidan to his feet despite his best judgement. "If you need to get to a hospital. I have my car out fr-"

"I'm  _ fine _ ," the dancer hissed again, marking the end of the protests. "I'll be alright in a minute."

"But…!" Símon bit his lip, knowing he wasn't getting anywhere. "Can I at least get you something to help? Aspirin? Water?"

"A strong drink would be great." Símon opened his mouth, quickly snapped it closed it again. He’d said he was going to help, and if that was what Aidan wanted, he would do it.

"Alright," he conceded, hesitantly removing his arms from around the dancer. He didn't want to leave him alone, but he certainly wasn't going to drag him back out into the club in his current state. "I'll be right back. You should probably lie down until -" A sharp glare cut him off.

"Stop. Please" As Aidan turned his gaze back to the floor, Símon shrugged his shoulders and stood. 

"I…. Yeah, sorry." With that, he stepped out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him. 

The second he was gone, Aidan released a shuddering sigh. He hadn't meant to be so harsh, but he couldn’t have Símon around to see.... Closing his eyes to block out the spinning walls, the dancer slowly got to his feet, gripping the edge of the vanity for support. His whole body was shaking, and though the tremors has subsided to a degree, he still felt dizzy, nauseous. And no wonder. He'd been clean for days now, at least since he’d gone through the last of his stash, and the withdrawals were finally kicking in full-force. 

Miserable timing aside, the problem needed handling, and fast.

Yanking open a nearby drawer, he rummaged around the sea of lipstick tubes, mascara bottles, and assorted pieces of gaudy jewelry until his fingertips landed on one of the small, black-plastic packets buried at the bottom. It was a known hiding spot among many of the dancers at the Raven, an emergency stash refilled each week by Branden himself.  _ Rend _ . A meager hit, barely enough to subdue the cravings, but it would do for now. If nothing else, Aidan thought with a bitter sneer, Chase really knew how to keep his employees around. 

And Aidan was in luck, for there were still a couple left. He pulled one out and quickly dumped the powdery contents onto the surface of the vanity. He didn't have the time or the resources to put it into a needle, so he would have to improvise. 

Closing his eyes, he plugged one nostril and began to inhale the bitter drug off the countertop. The effect began to hit him immediately, calming his trembling muscles and cooling his overheated body. He knew he must have looked pathetic; half-naked, bent over the vanity, his face practically pressed against the cold surface. But that was nothing compared to the face he knew would greet him in the mirror. That unnaturally pale skin, those blank eyes red and swollen from the tears. On a good day he could pass for newly-woken coma patient. Today, he knew he looked as if he belonged in the morgue. 

Taking a few uneven steps back from the vanity, Aidan wrapped his arms tightly around his chest. His body had stopped shaking, the room stopped spinning, but he still felt so weak. He staggered backwards toward the wall, allowed himself to collapse onto the cot, threw an arm over his eye to shut out the suddenly blinding light. He knew he shouldn't, but...he just wanted...to sleep....

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Símon really doesn't want to have to deal with this creep of a bartender ever again, but for Aidan he's willing to grin and bear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm tries so hard. Soooo hard.

 

"Changed your mind about that drink, handsome?" Malcolm's fake smile slowly transformed into a genuine sneer as Símon approached the bar. He wasn't surprised to see the kid coming back so soon. Aidan, after all, wasn't exactly known for his pillow talk. "My offer still stands, if you're interested." As he spoke, he leaned across the counter and winked one neon purple eyelid.

Símon smoothly ignored it. "The drink’s not for me, it’s for Aidan." He hesitated a moment. "...Please."

The bar tender's sneer faltered. "Oh, really? You're his little servant now, are you? And how am I supposed to know you're telling the truth? I can't just go around selling alcohol to minors." He brushed his fingers lightly over Símon's forearm. "Unless  _ I'm _ getting something out of it, too." 

The Italian  wrenched his arm out of reach, temper flaring. " _ Fine _ . A soda, then. You can sell me  _ that _ , right?" Stern glare not faltering for a second, Símon reached into his front pocket and withdrew three dollar bills, slapping them down on the counter. Malcolm narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything as he moved over to withdraw a bottle of root beer from a small fridge behind the bar. His lip curled into a sneer as he returned, quickly snatching the money from under Símon's hand. 

"Thanks for the tip." Without a second glance, and without offering him his change, Malcolm turned his full attention to a young, dark-haired man who had just sat down by himself at the far end of the counter. Símon rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle off the counter. Malcolm wasn't worth wasting any more time over, not when he had someone far more important counting on him for the drink. He turned around and headed back through those double doors where Aidan was waiting. 

Back in the dressing room, Símon gently set the root beer on the vanity next to the cot, being careful not to wake the sleeping form of the dancer lying there. No doubt he needed the rest, and he wasn't about to disturb him now. Instead, he quietly moved the vanity chair closer and sat down next to him. 

_ He looks so peaceful when he's asleep _ , Símon mused, taking in Aidan's unusually relaxed features. His lips, normally curved into a deadly smirk or a dark frown, were neutral now, parted slightly as his soft breath passed between them. His piercing amber eyes weren't busy searching out the lies of the world; they were closed, his dark, velvet lashes fluttering every so often. His skin, however, was still very pale, and the rings around his eyes were more obvious now when he didn't have his expressions to hide them. Altogether he seemed more  _ human _ . More real. More beautiful. The Italian smiled. 

_ So this is what you look like without the mask. _

A soft moan escaped Aidan's lips, and Símon realized he’d been slowly leaning closer, too close to them. He drew away quickly, trying to will away the blush he could feel rising to his cheeks as the dancer's eyes opened. And stared directly up at him.

Aidan's breath caught in his throat. Those eyes - those mirrored pools of blue and green - he knew them. He'd seen them before. Somewhere.... It was  _ that  _ night - the night he’d collapsed - when he’d gotten sick for the last time. They were...the eyes of Death, weren't they? They'd come back for him. Finally.

_ Thank you. _

The echoes of his own words rang in his ears, and he shook his head to clear his clouded mind. Death? That wasn't right, it couldn't be. He knew these eyes from somewhere else, too. Somewhere better.They belonged to….

"Ze?"

Senses gradually reawakening, Aidan was able to focus more closely on the face hovering over him. The Italian was smiling, moving, reaching down to put a soft hand on a clammy cheek. 

"Sorry if I woke you. Feeling any better?"

Aidan closed his eyes and managed a weak nod, simultaneously turning his face into the warmth of that almost-familiar palm. Surprisingly enough, he  _ was _ actually feeling better; and he supposed he had Branden's little stash to thank for that. Yet at the same time, he didn’t think the drugs were the reason his chest felt lighter, or his smile stretched more easily across his lips. Almost as if he felt...happy? 

No, that wasn't quite the right word for it. Still, it was a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time -- too long, he knew. Maybe he would never be able to find the words to explain it, but he was suddenly glad that Símon had found him. 

Movement slow, almost dreamy, the dancer reached up to place his hand over the Italian's on his cheek. The contact felt so real, so wonderful. He opened his eyes again. "Thank you." He'd said those two words to him before, but now they held an entirely different meaning. 

Símon, however, looked confused. "For what?"

_ For... _ . "For coming tonight." 

The Italian didn't, couldn’t respond, but the way his fingers curled around Aidan’s palm, his answer was clear. He was glad he'd come, too. 

"I, uh, brought you that drink," he said after a long moment, reaching over to pick up the bottle. "I’m afraid it’s not exactly what you wanted." He held it out for Aidan anyway, who brushed over bronze fingers lightly with his own as he took it.

"It’s fine, thanks," he smiled, using the Italian's shoulder for support as he slowly sat up. His head still felt heavy, and his back was aching for some reason, but at least he wasn't on the verge of throwing up anymore. He popped the cap off the bottle and downed half of the drink in one swig. But when he finished, he looked back at Ze to find him staring directly at his chest, an odd expression written across his features. 

Aidan started to smirk, started to lean forward to offer the Italian more of what he thought he wanted. Only then he realized it wasn't his chest Símon was looking at - it was higher up, where his shirt had fallen open again and started to slip from his shoulder. The dancer frowned and raised a hand to the spot.

His breath abandoned him when his fingers brushed over the small red mark Branden's teeth had left on his pale skin. 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Símon proves that he's more than just empty words and broken promises, and Aidan finds himself risking the plunge in deep.

What was he going to say? What  _ could  _ he say? How many times in one night was he going to break this boy's heart?

This is what he’d been afraid of - what that nagging voice in his head had been trying to warn him about since taking up the kid’s offer of a warm place to sleep. But it was already too late. He’d let himself get drawn in, and now Símon was the one who was getting hurt. It was all his fault. 

Aidan closed his fist over the brand on his skin and let his gaze fall to the floor in shame, in guilt.

The Italian had gone silent as well, equally at a loss as he searched for the right words. As soon as he'd seen the mark, a thousand thoughts had flooded through his mind at once, none of them helping him decide how to react. Those were teeth, no mistake. And they were fresh, still red and angry and swollen where the skin had been broken. 

Who had given it to him? Had he enjoyed it? Had it meant more to him than the kiss they’d shared right here in this room? It pained him too much to try to imagine the answer. 

"I’m a mess, Ze." The nineteen-year old glanced up, surprised at how strained Aidan's voice suddenly sounded. He found him staring at his lap, not bothering this time to wipe away the tears that ran freely down his cheeks. "I’m fucked up. I’m no good for you, or anyone. I’m sorry." Amber eyes flickered beneath heavy lids, catching in the dim light of the room as he forced himself to meet his judgement. "I'm so sorry," he apologized again, but it felt empty, pointless. The way Símon was staring at him made him want to disappear. 

"I know," came the hesitant answer. Aidan bit his lip, waiting for the blow. "I know everything. And none of it matters."

_...What? _

Símon continued, the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips as he pulled the collar of Aidan’s shirt - his shirt - down over the mark. "I don’t know why people always assume I’m so naive. You work in a strip club, Aidan. I met you because you literally collapsed in my arms. You came to my house for dinner and offered me a  _ discount  _ to have sex on my couch. You took _ ten years  _ off my life when you stepped into my kitchen naked this morning, and I showed up tonight to see you shove some other guy's hand down your pants.” 

Aidan could only flinch away from the accusations.  

“Yet,” Ze spoke over his pained expression. “Here I am, still waiting for you to give me a good enough reason to walk away. Because so far I haven’t heard one."

The dancer just stared at him, mouth half-forming the beginning of a question. This was crazy.  _ Ze _ was crazy, he had to be. How could anyone sit there so calmly and tell him that despite everything - despite all the years of piss-poor choices and mistakes - he was still deserving of of a second chance? It was unbelievable, laughable even. 

But then Símon was kissing him again, and Aidan found himself unwilling to pull away. Maybe he didn't have to understand. Maybe he didn’t have to believe. Maybe if he stopped fighting so hard, things would somehow fall into place. Thinking about it was useless - he just wanted to....

Gripping the Italian's shoulders, Aidan melted into the kiss. It was less tentative this time, Ze’s lips and tongue bolder as they swallowed down his sobs. Aidan no longer cared about the tears tumbling hot and fresh down his cheeks. They didn't matter. The Raven didn't matter. Branden and his cold threats didn't matter, not anymore.

All that he cared about was diving into Ze head first and never letting go.

  
~  
  


"You sure it's okay to just leave like this?" Símon asked cautiously as he helped Aidan down off the cot. The dancer replied with a sharp nod. 

"If they really care enough, they can find someone to cover for me. I won't be missed." He tugged his shirt - Símon's shirt - closed over his chest, doing up enough of the buttons to keep out the chill of the outside air. "I just need to get out of here."

Símon nodded in understanding. "Right. Uh, is there at least a back exit or something? You know, just in case." he said, offering a smile. He wasn’t nervous, honest. It wasn’t as though he were  _ kidnapping _ anyone. Still, the fewer unfriendly faces they met on the way out, the better. 

"Yeah. This way." Aidan led him out of the dressing room and down the hallway, past the two double doors that led back into the main part of the club, and took a turn in the opposite direction. 

But as they rounded the corner, Aidan suddenly stopped short. Ze barely avoided running into him, his hands catching Aidan’s shoulders as he teetered on his toes. 

Blinking, surprised, he glanced up to find himself staring right into the chest of a tall man in a neatly pressed black suit. He had evidently been walking at a quick clip, and as he steadied himself he reached up to smooth back wavy brown hair. Green-gold eyes scanned over both of the faces of the figures before him, and under his palms Símon felt Aidan go rigid.

"Aidan? What a coincidence, I was on my way to find you. I heard from one of the other boys that you'd...had another accident." As his voice trailed off, the man turned his gaze directly at Símon, his eyes narrowing. "But it seems you're already feeling better."

Aidan said nothing. He stared down at the cold floor, face hard as he willed his body to spontaneously combust. 

"So," the man continued, voice almost amicable even as he shifted so that his broad shoulders seemed to block their path. "Where are you two off to in such a hurry?"

Sensing the dancer’s hesitation, Símon raised his voice for the both of them. "Aidan still isn't feeling well. I'm taking him home." 

"Is that so.” A thinly veiled smirk directed at pale features hidden behind a curtain of dark hair. “I hope you haven’t already forgotten our little agreement. From the looks of things, it may have to be renewed again very soon." He laid a heavy hand on Aidan's shoulder, then pulled it away again when he flinched at the touch. Smoothly, he turned his gaze back on Símon. Something about his smile made the Italian's skin crawl. "Well, then. You kids have  _ fun  _ tonight." 

He was grateful when the man stepped past them and continued down the corridor, around the corner and out of sight. Símon released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. "Are you alright?" he asked cautiously. Though some of the tension in his shoulders had appeared to drain, Aidan still hadn’t moved, still hadn’t said a word. At the question he lifted his head, gave a firm nod, and wrapped his ice-cold fingers around Ze’s wrist as he all but dragged him toward the exit.

"That was my boss." 

The answer followed them down the length of the corridor, out the heavy steel doors of the staff entrance, and into the darkness of the parking lot out back. 

They found the streets deserted as they made their way around to the front of the building. Not surprising, Aidan mused, as there always seemed to be fewer people willing to get caught in this district on a Sunday night. Not that it made any difference to him - save that the Italian’s car, black as the darkness surrounding it, was easy to spot parked across the street. In silence, Símon led Aidan to the passenger side, smiled as he unlocked the door and held it open for him. 

Aidan, too, managed a weak smile in return. Ducking his head, he started to climb in when he noticed there was something already occupying his seat. 

"Oh! I completely forgot!” Símon said, reaching past Aidan to pull out the plate of cold pasta.”I thought you might get hungry, so I brought you some dinner. Hope you don't mind?"  

Aidan stared down at the meal as it was passed into his hands, then looked up at Símon. He was suddenly glad for the darkness of night that hid the growing blush on his cheeks. 

"It’s perfect. Thanks," he said at last. Closing his fingers around the plate, he continued forward until he was brushing his lips over the smooth edge of Símon's cheek. 

Ze flushed bright pink. Smiled as he watched Aidan slip into the seat, then closed his door and headed around to the other side. He was pleased to note that by the time he slid behind the wheel, Aidan was already digging into the food.  _ Guess I was right _ , he grinned to himself, and started the engine to take them away from the Raven for another night.

It was several minutes later, however, he realized with a sigh that he had no idea where he was going.

"Ah, Aidan? Sorry," he began, noticing the dancer had glanced up with a fork-full of noodles still in his mouth. “But I still don't know where you live. Think you can give me directions from here?"

Startled, Aidan nearly choked on his mouthful of cheese and rigatoni. That thought hadn't even occurred to him yet. When Símon had said he was taking him home, he'd immediately assumed the Italian meant  _ his own  _ house. His heart sank; the last thing he needed after such an emotional roller coaster ride of a night was to return to the filthy shithole he claimed to live in - alone.

Just as he finished swallowing the noodles, preparing to make whatever excuse he could to stall, to delay,  _ anything _ , Símon turned to him again and spoke first. "Unless you'd like to stay with me tonight? I could make you breakfast again before I go to class in the morning," he offered, followed by a charming smile that could have warmed the icy heart right out of even Malcolm’s chest. 

For the hundredth time that night, Aidan wondered if Símon could possibly get any more remarkable. "Yeah. I'd like that," he managed, glancing out the window to hide his own uncontrollable smile. Slowly, hesitant at first, he reached over to rest his hand on the top of the Italian's leg through his jeans. Chewed his lip when he felt Símon move to clasp it in his own.

Somehow, the street lights passing by seemed to glow a little brighter in the dark night.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walking away from the Raven has taken an emotional toll on Aidan and Ze alike. A night of rest and comfort is just what the doctor ordered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around this long :) Now that these two are released from their glass cage of emotion, the story can start to take off!

By the time they reached the house, the minor throbbing in his temple that Aidan had been ignoring for the past hour had developed into a full-blown headache. And no wonder. It had been years since the last time he'd been able to cry -  _ really _ cry. The sudden burst of emotion earlier in the night was merely taking its toll on his body. 

He smiled as Símon helped him out of the car. One gentle arm supporting his back, the other once again fumbling for his house keys, the Italian led him up to the front door. Aidan closed his eyes as he leaned his full weight against the kid’s - no, his  _ friend's  _ shoulder. Símon was so strong. Much stronger than he would ever be.

He had to admit, it felt good to let someone else be strong for a change. 

Finally, they stepped through the door, and immediately headed over to the couch where Aidan had slept the night before. The dancer laid down - the cool leather felt so good even through his shirt - and threw a thin arm over his eyes to block out the overhead light. 

"I'll get you some aspirin," Símon whispered softly as he helped to settle a small pillow beneath Aidan's head. Once more, he found himself worrying more than was probably necessary, but he honestly couldn't help it. Besides, if he didn't care, who would?

Falling into a comfortable silence, Aidan felt rather than heard Símon stand next the couch and begin to move down the hall toward the bathroom. A cabinet opened and closed, he heard a faucet running, shutting off. Ze returned mere moments later with a small bottle in one hand and a glass of tap water in the other.

"Here. Think you can sit up?"

With a bit of help and significant effort on his part, Aidan managed to coax his tired body to the edge of the sofa. He kept one eye shut against the dull ache, and the other locked on the smooth movements of Ze’s fingers as he popped open the bottle cap. Aidan accepted two white tablets as they were dumped into his palm, swallowed them down easily, and then drained the glass to ease his dry throat. 

It was with a relieved sigh that he at last collapsed back onto the inviting cushions. 

"You’re a life-saver, Ze.” The corner of Aidan’s mouth curved up as he peered at Símon from under his forearm.

"Glad to be of service." The Italian reached over to turn off the small desk lamp next to the couch. "Sorry, better?"

Aidan nodded once, gradually letting his arm slide down next to him. " _ Much _ ." And he meant it. Laying there, with Símon at his side, he felt impossibly calm. Unrushed, unpanicked. Not worried about, well,  _ anything _ . Not the club, not Branden, not even the headache that was already beginning to fade. None of it mattered, because....

Cool fingertips swept lightly across his forehead, brushing aside a few loose strands of dark hair from his face. Aidan opened his eyes as much as he dared, and stared up into the blue-and-green twin pools of the man leaning over him.

"You should rest," Símon offered, fingertips lightly gliding over his temple. "It’ll help."

_ I know something else that would help even more _ . Still, Ze was right, and Aidan willed away his urge to snatch those fingers between his lips as he instead melted into the heavenly leather cushions. "You a doctor now?" he teased, flashing a sleepy grin. 

Símon winked. "Maybe someday." He leaned forward until he could press a kiss to the dancer's forehead, and whispered a gentle  _ ‘Good night’ _ before getting to his feet again. The same flannel blanket Aidan had used the night before was still there, folded in a neat pile next to the couch. As he draped it over thin shoulders, the dancer parted his lips - half in yawn, the other half a contented sigh - and Ze felt his cheeks flare at the sight. 

Did Aidan have any idea how incredibly beautiful he was? 

That thought followed him for a while, even after he’d switched off the lights and made his way down the hall to his own, lonely bedroom. 

~

The house seemed suddenly empty without the Italian's comforting presence. Aidan rolled onto his side, onto his back again, tried tightening the blanket around him, but nothing worked. Tired as he was, sleep continued to elude him. After nearly an hour of restless tossing and turning, Aidan flopped onto his back and heaved a sigh up at the ceiling.

The same thing had happened the night before, too. Rather than taking advantage of the kindness Ze had shown him, he once again found himself lying on the couch, alone, miserable, and wide awake. What the hell was wrong with him?

Despite the blanket wrapped around him, he felt cold. He already missed the feeling of being in Símon's arms, the warmth of being held close against him. He shivered, sighed again, and glanced in the direction of the hallway. Would it be so bad if he just…? 

Leaving the blanket behind, Aidan eased himself to the edge of the couch. Put his still-recovering sense of balance to the test as he set his feet on the carpet and shifted his weight onto his heels. The only light came from the pale moon pouring in through the windows, but it was enough for him to make his way down the hall toward the closed door at the far end. For a brief moment he felt very much like a small child, rushing to his mother's room to escape the lightning or the monsters under his bed. Had he ever done that? Somehow, he doubted it.

Shaking off the thought, the dancer tapped a knuckle gently against the door, and then slowly turned the knob and stepped into the darkness.

~

In his half-asleep state, Símon dreamt he heard someone entering his room. He imagined he heard quiet footsteps approach the bed, and then a weight slip in next to him under the sheets. In his dream, something warm and soft curled up against his chest, an arm draped over his side, and he automatically welcomed the presence in an embrace of his own

The dream was absolutely perfect.

  
  



	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy blinding him to the truth, Malcolm has come to despise Aidan with every fiber of his being. 
> 
> Now, for the first time, he finds that perhaps he isn't alone after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Prepare for trouble! Make it double!"

**** He leaned back against the wall of the building, glaring into the pale wisps of smoke that rose before his face from the end of his cigarette. It was late, and the dark clouds rolling in overhead held the promise of a storm on the way. Great.  _ Wonderful _ .

The door next to him swung lazily open and two men stumbled past, ignoring him as they headed down the street. No doubt they would be going home together now that the club was closed for the night. As he watched their figures slowly fade away beyond the dim streetlight, a surge of jealousy rose in his gut. In the light of the nearby streetlamp, his glittering lips curved into a sneer. 

It had never been easy working at the Raven. All day, he saw new relationships blossom, new desires spark, love kindle even if only for one perfect, sweaty night under the sheets. For him, it was nothing short of torture to stand by idly while those around him found someone else to hold. They had no idea how lucky they were, to be desired, wanted.

And then, on top of it all, there was Aidan. 

He crushed his half-burned cigarette in his palm, gritting his teeth as the ashes bit at his flesh.  _ Aidan.  _ That obnoxious, glorified little whore. Without even trying, he became the center of attention whenever he walked into a room. Wherever he went men followed like lap dogs, drooling over his body and clamoring for even the slightest taste. And yet he acted as though the attention meant  _ nothing _ . Ignored the appraising glances, the inviting smiles. Took advantage of his popularity to strut around as though he owned the whole damn club.

It made him  _ sick _ . Given the chance, he would do anything to be in Aidan’s place.

_ Anything _ .

"Malcolm?"

Thoughts scattered with the ashes of his crushed cigarette at the sudden - and unnervingly close - voice. He whirled around, blinked in surprise as he caught himself staring up into the eyes of the figure who had addressed him. "Oh. It’s you." 

Branden Chase stood at least a foot taller, his dark suit blending in perfectly with the shadows of the night. Even beneath the veil of his lashes, those green-gold eyes caught and held him at attention. 

Then Chase smiled, and Malcolm realized with a start that he’d been holding his breath. Releasing it as subtly as he could, he slipped easily, quickly into his usual drawl. "Evening, sir? Can I help you?" Amused, Branden’s smile grew.

"I’m surprised to see you still here, is all. We closed half an hour ago. Are you waiting for someone?" As he spoke, Branden turned a small silver key in the lock of the door, then tested the handle to make sure it was secure. He missed the way the other’s cheeks paled.

"Ah, no," Malcolm said, trying to disguise the bitter tone coloring his voice. "I was just enjoying some fresh air.” Behind his back, he hastily brushed away the ashes that still clung to his palm. 

Branden, meanwhile, quirked an eyebrow up at the approaching storm. "I see. Well, I'm sorry to say, I think your star-gazing session might get snowed out." 

"So it would seem." Malcolm’s gaze sank at the same time as his heart. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and, with nothing left to say, started away from the building. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Chase."

A sudden and surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder brought him to a complete stop. Malcolm risked a glance back, felt his knees go weak at the intensity of Branden’s eyes on him. Those fingers squeezed once, refused to let go..

"Let me walk you to your car?" he offered, and there was promise there. Feint, but more intoxicating than a shot of straight gin. 

It took Malcolm a long moment to find his voice. When at last he did, he prefaced his words with a welcoming smile and an elbow hooked through the crook of the taller man’s arm. "By all means, sir.  _ Walk me. _ "

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Símon wakes up to a stripper in his bed. He's pretty sure Aidan is trying to give him a heart attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 84 years.... 
> 
> But here's an update! Just fluff, not much plot here, enjoy the happy while it lasts.

The blurred, neon numbers on his alarm clock informed him that it was seven twenty-three. Seven minutes until his alarm was set to go off, seven more minutes of sleep before he had to get up.

Closing his eyes again, Símon fought back a yawn and rolled onto his other side. In the darkness of his bedroom, he reached out to tug his pillow closer - but his hand landed instead on something firm and warm. Something that, when squeezed, let out an agitated groan.

_ Odd _ , he thought.  _ Since when did pillows groan? _

Eyes flying open, Símon bolted straight up in his bed as realization turned to panic and colored his face bright red. Next to him, he could clearly make out the shape of Aidan's body beneath the sheets, the rivers of his black hair flowing out over the pillows where his head lay. The early morning light that broke through the curtains gently kissed the skin of his cheeks, his neck, his bare shoulders, right down to the bit of chest and a single, rosy nipple exposed above the covers. 

Aidan was a beautiful sight, to be sure, but one that sent the Italian’s heart racing a mile a minute. 

First of all, he didn't know how Aidan had gotten into his bed. Second, he couldn't tell how much clothing the dancer had on - if any - or what, in his half-awake, panicked state, he couldn't remember about what they'd done the night before. 

_ What ifs  _ plagued him.  _ What if they had…? _ But no, surely he would remember something like that. Right?  

While the Italian sat at the edge of the bed, attempting with little success to calm his breathing, the glowing digits on the face of the clock behind him hit 7:30. A harsh, electronic chirping filled the room. Símon jumped in surprise and nearly went toppling over the side of the mattress.

He barely noticed when Aidan began to stir.

" _ Mm _ , turn th't thing off," the dancer muttered, flipping onto his stomach to bury his face in the pillow. 

With a trembling hand, Símon smacked the alarm clock into submissive silence, and gulped. 

"Aidan?" When there was no answer, he cleared his throat and tried again a little louder. "Aidan? Are you awake?"

Twin amber eyes, half-lidded in the morning light, shot up at him in answer, and the dancer frowned. A few moments passed while he tried to remember exactly where he was, and just how he'd ended up in such an impossibly comfortable bed. But the sight of Símon, blushing as he hovered over him, helped to answer his questions. 

"Hey, Ze." He yawned, twisting back around so he could better look. "Everything okay?" 

The Italian swallowed hard and looked down at the sheets. The hand running back through his sleep-tousled hair was mostly subconscious. "Aidan, um. I'm sorry for anything I m-may have...." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head before trying again. "Listen, whatever happened last night, I want you to know I didn't mean to.... W-well, it's not that I didn't mean it! Because. Well, I...." 

One of the dancer’s eyebrows slowly arched up while Ze spoke. Aidan pulled himself into a slight sitting position on the bed, and tried not to laugh. "Símon? What the hell are you talking about?"

Silence filled the gap between them. Aidan continued to regard the younger man with a curious expression, while Símon struggled to find his words. "I don't really know," he admitted at last. "I saw you lying there, and I guess I assumed we, um.  _ You know _ ." Thick brows drew into a knot. "We didn't, did we?"

As with almost everything else about the Italian, Aidan found himself questioning if the kid was actually serious - or even real. How was it possible for someone to be so innocent and so charming at the same time? Because  _ of course _ he was serious, and of course he was real. And yet Aidan could still hardly believe what he was hearing.  

The dancer shook his head. The smile that he’d been guarded grew playful, and he reached over to touch Ze’s thigh. There was no other sound in the bedroom save for the creak of the mattress under Aidan’s shifting weight. Even Símon had all but stopped breathing. "No," came the dancer’s voice in the small space that remained between them. "Not yet." 

He had predicted the reaction perfectly. Silently, as if his voice had completely abandoned him, the Italian's eyes widened and his breath visibly caught in his throat. The blush that had toyed over his skin since he'd woken returned full force, tinting everything from his nose to his ears in bright, potent shades of pink and red. And when he did finally attempt to stammer out a reply, it only managed to further increase the effect. 

It was possibly the most adorable thing Aidan had ever seen. 

Unable to keep a straight face any longer, a grin broke out across the dancer's beautiful lips, followed by the sound of sweet laughter as he patted Símon's leg. "You’re too serious, Ze. Lighten up." His tone may have been chiding, but he was admittedly relieved when the Italian managed a soft laugh as well. 

"So my friends tell me." 

He smiled at Aidan, shyly in the wake of the morning scare. It was hard, in the dancer’s half-naked state, not to let his eyes rove down the curve of his throat, over the ridges of his collarbones to where the mark from the night before was nearly faded. Or down the pale expanse of his chest where, sensing his gaze, Aidan drew his fingertips in a tempting path; urging him to follow lower,  _ lower.  _ Somehow, Ze resisted the urge, and instead guided the conversation toward a safer topic. "A-anyway, I'll make us some breakfast. You hungry?" 

"You offering?" Aidan joked, the fingers still resting on Ze’s thigh squeezing just enough to make him squirm. “Because breakfast sounds great.” 

It certainly wasn't that he _ wanted _ to get out of bed. In fact, he would have been perfectly content to spend the rest of the morning gazing up into those blue-and-green depths, perhaps even getting a chance to do some exploring over that smooth, bronze skin in the process. But, alas, Símon had already mentioned he had class that day, and, though he greatly despised the thought of returning to the Raven, he knew he needed to at least check in at work. 

So, for now, he'd have to play the considerate houseguest refrain from  _ too many  _ distraction. Of course, if the way Ze had spoken the night before was any clue, there would be plenty of time for lazy mornings later. The thought alone was enough to fill his chest with something warm, something unfamiliar. 

Or maybe that was just Símon's fingers curling around his hand as the Italian tugged him off of the mattress. "Bacon and eggs alright?" he grinned.

"That’d be perfect." Smiling, free hand reaching down to adjust his pants around his waist, Aidan allowed himself to be led down the hall to the kitchen bathed in morning light.

 

Within ten minutes, the smell of bacon frying on the stove had filled the entire house. The scent was somehow nostalgic, Aidan thought; but then again he'd been in countless diners in his life, all of which seemed to have the smell of bacon and waffles permanently ingrained into their walls. He chalked it up to faded memories and left it at that.  

The dancer was seated at the small, two-person table in Símon's kitchen, leaning back in his chair while he idly watched his host busy about between the stove, the refrigerator, and various cupboards along the wall. He did briefly consider offering to help, but then he remembered that he didn't know the first thing about cooking. Better to let Símon handle it lest the whole house end up in ashes before lunchtime.

Aidan turned back to study the surface of the table top for a while, rubbing the remainder of sleep out of his eyes. Though he was still groggy, he couldn't help but notice that, for the first time in at least a year -- probably more -- he'd managed to get a full night's rest. Normally he’d wake up throughout the night for reasons he could rarely discern, only to return to another fitful hour of feverish sleep before plunging into consciousness once more. But not last night, not here in this cozy house with the Italian boy he'd met three days ago. Last night he'd slept as deeply as he could ever have remembered doing before. And he could feel it that morning in his not-quite-so-aching back and his not-nearly-as-sagging shoulders. 

He was even willing to bet that pale face in the mirror looked a little more refreshed today. 

Something else he'd noticed since waking up was that he had an appetite. No, more like he was  _ starving _ . For someone used to eating at most once a day, it seemed unusual for him to be so incredibly hungry first thing in the morning, especially considering the big meal he'd eaten when Ze had picked him up from work. Granted that had been nearly twelve hours ago, but it should have been more than enough to hold him until the next night.  _ Must be something about Italian food _ . 

Eventually, his stomach's demands succeeded in growling their way through his train of thought. Glancing over at Símon, the dancer opened his mouth, about to ask how much longer it would be when the Italian surprised him with a plate full of hot bacon. "You can start on these while I make the eggs,” he flashed a smile. “How do you like yours?" 

Already moving back to the stove, he began cracking open the first of the pack into a skillet, the yolk sizzling as soon as it hit the pan. Aidan merely frowned in response to the question. How  _ did _ he like eggs? It had been so long since he'd eaten them that he wasn't even sure how to properly order. "I...."

A distant memory came to the rescue, clouded but still there. He was young, sitting at a large table surrounded by people he knew he should recognize. A dark-haired waitress had just asked him the same thing, though her voice was slightly muffled by the thick wad of gum under her tongue -  _ "How do you want those, kid?" Scrambled,  _ he'd said. _ "You got it." _

_ "Someone’s all grown up, huh, Aidy?"  _

That sarcastic response had come from someone else, a deeper voice, so it was promptly ignored as Aidan returned to the present. "Scrambled," he announced matter-of-factly to Símon. After all, he'd apparently liked them as a kid, why shouldn't he now? The Italian gave him an approving smile - a reaction Aidan much preferred over dry cynicism - and turned to finish preparing their meal. Meanwhile, the dancer set to work on the food before him; by the time Símon had finished with the eggs, the plate of bacon was half-eaten.

The Italian laughed as he shoveled the contents of the pan he was holding out onto each of their plates. Then he took the open seat at the table and dug into what was left of the bacon. "You know, not many people over the age of ten are willing to admit they like scrambled eggs," he grinned, sliding a glass of orange juice over to Aidan. "I'm glad I'm not the only one anymore." 

  
  



	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Ze finds Aidan incredibly easy to love, it occurs to him that his friends may not feel the same way about him falling for a stripper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not nearly perfect but by the gods it's almost 2am please take it *collapses*

 

Class started at 10:00. He took a deep breath, glanced at his watch face, and grimaced.  _ 10:26 _ . 

For the first time since he could remember, Símon Accietto was late for an exam.

In all practicality, he couldn't figure out where his morning had gone. He'd given himself plenty of time to get ready, had even planned in an extra twenty minutes in case Aidan had needed a ride to work. More than enough time for him to make breakfast, take a shower, and get to his campus. So why was he now standing outside of his classroom nearly a half hour late, clutching his text books and panting for breath after his sprint through the parking lot? The answer was simple.

_ Because he hadn’t wanted to leave him _ .

All morning, he'd made it a point to let himself get distracted by the dark-haired dancer. Though, with Aidan around, it really hadn't taken much effort on his part. Breakfast had gone smoothly enough, and he'd even managed to convince Aidan that he was quite capable of showering on his own. After getting dressed himself, he had insisted on helping Aidan pick out several new outfits from his closet. Which hadn't been easy considering the dancer’s smaller build, but eventually they had settled on a loose button-down shirt and a pair of faded jeans that Símon hadn't worn in years. The Italian had even shown him how to work the washer and dryer so he could do his laundry that afternoon.

All because he'd wanted to spend time with Aidan.  _ And _ , if he was being honest with himself,  _ because he had gotten to watch him trying on his clothes. _

In retrospect, he really didn't mind being late all that much.

Pushing open the door to the lecture hall as quietly as possible, Símon slipped in past the first row of desks and over to his usual seat. The professor glanced up once, eyed Ze suspiciously, then returned to the book on his desk without a word. Several other curious heads turned up at him from their essays, but no one seemed to pay him much mind. 

Except, of course, for Jon, who was sitting right behind him, brown eyes boring a hole into the back of his head. 

Símon tried his best to ignore him, and instead concentrated on the papers on his desk. He’d honestly forgotten all about the exam. Yet even without studying all weekend, distracted as he was, Physics had always proved to be an easy subject for him. Jon’s glare already forgotten, he took out a pen and began to write.

  
  


"You want to explain what's been going on with you lately?" It wasn't so much a question as it was an  _ I-dare-you-not-to-give-me-an-answer _ sort of challenge. Símon raked his fingers back through his hair and sighed.

With their exam finished, he’d been on his way out into the late-morning sun when Jon had hurriedly caught up with him at the door. Outside, the day was unseasonably warm for winter; but despite the refreshing weather the campus around them appeared almost completely deserted.

"I don't know what you mean," he replied with a shrug, starting for the courtyard. Jon trailed close behind him.

"Don't lie to me, Ze. First you skip out on our dinner, then you hang up on me yesterday morning. And now? Now you show up late for class - something I never thought I’d live to see  - and act like it’s nothing." He paused to catch up as Ze had started walking faster. "Look, I'm just worried about you. What’s going on?" 

They reached the park outside of the library, where several stone benches had been placed under the shade of a tall oak. Stretched out on one of these benches, Erin lay waiting with his pack pillowed under his head and a book in hand. Símon started toward him with Jon in tow.

"There’s nothing to worry about. I lost track of time this weekend, that’s all." He froze when Jon's hand shot out, clenching tightly around his upper arm just outside of earshot of the benches. Dark, brown eyes searched his face.

"I want to hear you say it, then. Tell me this has nothing to do with  _ him. _ " 

_ Him. _ Aidan, of course. What could Símon say? He’d never been a good liar, and Jon was his best friend. Who better to see right through him? And although Jon could be an ass at times, this wasn’t worth losing his friendship over - which is exactly what Símon feared might happen if he found out that Aidan could end up becoming a permanent part of his life. 

He would have to choose his next words very carefully.

"I'm...just helping him out for a while," he conceded, shifting his gaze to the stack of books under his arm. "Long enough for him to get back on his feet. That's all. There's nothing going on between us."

The grip on his arm loosened. Though Jon was frowning now his eyes seemed to have lost their hard edge. "You know, you're too nice for your own good sometimes, Ze," he muttered. Then, quieter: “I don’t want to see you get hurt again.” 

It took considerable effort, but Símon managed not to flinch away at that. Some memories, he knew, weren’t worth dragging up out of the dirt, no matter how innocent the intention. So he swallowed back the bitter taste that had suddenly filled his mouth and forced a smile instead. “Thanks, Jon. Really. I promise to be careful.” From across the park, Erin had finally noticed them, and began waving them over before the words even finished leaving Ze’s lips. He nudged Jon in that direction. “Catch up later, yeah?”

“Where are you going?” 

“To check up on a favor.” Phone already in hand, Símon backpedaled away from his friend before he had a chance to reply, and jogged off toward the far side of campus in search of Wendy.

  
  


He found her in the engineering lab, earbuds in and face pillowed on her arms on one of the tables. Not sleeping, merely bored; Ze could tell from the way her fingers drummed against her forearm to the beat of the music. Next to her on the table was her backpack, and next to that, the project he’d asked her to finish over the weekend. 

It was  _ running _ . 

The motor chirped and whirred smoothly as he approached. Each part moved exactly as it was meant to, exactly as he’d imagined in the design - maybe even better, and he had no doubt their professor would be as impressed as he was. What he’d failed to do in a week, Wendy had managed to perfect in only two days. She had worked a miracle. 

“You did it!” he said by way of greeting, nearly startling Wendy right off her seat. “I can’t believe you figured it out.”

Yanking out her earbuds, his friend whirled around to flash him a triumphant grin. “Nice to see you again, stud. What do you think? Looks good, doesn’t she?” 

“Yeah. What was the problem? How’d you get it to work?” Símon took the open stool next to her, dropping his own bag onto the table to get a closer look at the machine. His questions, however, were met with a single hand held up in the air. 

“Nope. You first.” Wendy’s grin stretched from ear to ear in her excitement. She’d evidently been waiting for this chance. “I’m not giving you any details until you spill the beans about Adrian.”

“Aidan?”

“ _ Yes,  _ I knew it! You totally scored with him, didn’t you!” She pumped her fist in the air, spun around on the stool until it was creaking under the strain. “I’m so proud of you, Ze.”

The Italian struggled to contain the heat that flooded to his cheeks. “N-no, it’s not like that. We didn’t -  _ we didn’t sleep together _ ,” he explained in a hushed, hurried tone. “I mean, he slept in my bed, once. Last night. But we didn’t  _ do _ anything.”

From the look Wendy was suddenly giving him - incredulous, eyes narrowed to slits - it was clear she hadn’t gotten the answer she’d wanted. “Wait.  _ Really? _ You mean I spent all weekend busting  _ my  _ ass so  _ you  _ could get some, and you wasted it?”

“Not exactly.” Her eyebrows, if possible, scaled even higher under her bangs in disbelief. “Would it help if I told you I found something better?”

Ze smiled then. Shyly, secretly, as he watched the gears turn behind Wendy’s eyes. Watched as realization blossomed across her face, first as surprise, then as something warmer. She reached out to drape her hand over his on the surface of the table. 

“Better, huh? This guy must be pretty special, then,” she said, and mirrored the softness of Símon’s smile. “So. Details. I want to know everything about this new loverboy of yours.” 

_ Everything?  _ Somehow, Ze doubted it’d be so simple to explain. After all, how would Wendy react to hearing that the guy he’d fallen for was a stripper with a drug habit? Would she be understanding, or would she take the same disapproving side as Jon? Although he could see past the surface to the person Aidan was on the inside, he wasn’t sure he could expect the same from anyone who hadn’t actually gotten to know him. Probably best to skim the details, then. 

But first, there was another, more pressing matter to discuss. 

“Okay. I’ll tell you what you want to know,” Ze began, and gestured to the whirring motor of the machine next to them. “ _ After  _ you tell me how you fixed this thing. My presentation’s in an hour.” 

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left alone to his own devices, Aidan attempts to do something nice for his gracious host.
> 
> After he raids his underwear drawer, of course.

After a long, hot, and much-needed shower, Aidan found that he was grateful for the clean clothes Símon had helped pick out that morning. They were laid out neatly at the foot of the Italian's bed - one light, collared shirt and a pair of jeans that, while too small for Ze, had proved a perfect fit for the dancer. The style, of course, would take some getting used to, considering Aidan's wardrobe in recent years excluded anything that wasn't skin tight. But he vowed to make an effort at wearing them for Símon's sake.

As he examined them now, standing in the middle of the bedroom with nothing but a towel around his waist, a different thought crossed his mind. It hadn't occurred to him earlier in the rush of the morning, but the only article of his own clothing currently in his possession were the leather pants he’d worn at work. No shirt, no socks, and, most unfortunately given the circumstances, no underwear. Supple leather was one thing, but the denim of the pants Símon had lent him would be infinitely more uncomfortable rubbing against the more sensitive parts of his bare skin....

Spying the dresser nearby, Aidan hesitated for only a half second before making up his mind. He found what he was looking for in the very first drawer he opened, and grinned. 

Símon had a surprisingly large - and varied - collection of what appeared to be mostly boxers. Rummaging through , the dancer became increasingly distracted from his original purpose the longer he explored. Some of the shorts were plain, some had designs or even cartoon characters on them, and one, at the very bottom, was made of burgundy silk. It was this pair that caught Aidan's attention over the others, and he pulled them out for closer examination. Hard as it was to imagine the modest Italian owning anything so distinctly seductive, the image it painted of dark silk on bronze skin was enough to keep him from returning the boxers to the drawer. 

Curious, he tested the elastic waistband, only to find to his disappointment that they seemed to have never been worn.  _ Shame _ , he thought, and tossed the pair of boxers onto the bed.  _ We’ll have to change that. _

He was considerate enough to tidy up the drawer before getting dressed and ready for work in record time. 

A glance at the clock told him he still had five more hours.

_ Five hours _ . With a sigh, he collapsed back onto the mattress. How was he supposed to kill that much time? On his own,  he spent most days either sleeping or half-conscious on the floor of his single-room apartment. Or, if he needed some cash, showed up early around back of the Raven to see who was willing to spend.  _ Working, using, fucking; was that all he was good for?  _

The more he thought about it, the less appealing any of his options became. Though he'd been woken up by Símon's alarm earlier than he would have liked, he really didn't feel tired enough to go back to sleep. And, even more than usual, the idea of picking up a client today made his stomach turn. No, he didn't want to have to go back to the club until he absolutely had to, and hopefully he wouldn't be required to do anything more than dance.

Minutes seemed to trudge by like hours as he continued to lie there on the bed, frowning up at nothing in particular on the ceiling. Eventually, his boredom got the better of him, and he decided he would have to find a better means of passing the time. Símon had shown him how to use the washing machine before he left that morning; now was as good a time as any to see how well he'd been paying attention. 

Grabbing his black pants off the floor, he headed down the hall toward the kitchen, where a side door led to the small laundry room. Like everything else in the house, this room was clean and well-organized, adding to the proof that Símon simply had far too much free time on his hands. 

The detergent was set on a shelf above the washing machine. Aidan eyeballed a few ounces and poured it into the machine just as Ze had showed him. Turned on the rinse cycle and started to toss in his pants when a small voice in the back of his mind kept them from actually hitting the water.

He frowned. Not that he was an expert at taking care of clothes, but something about soapy, hot water and leather just didn't seem to mix. Hadn't he heard somewhere that materials like these had to be dry-cleaned? He could risk it, of course, but then he didn't exactly have much else to replace them if they ended up ruined.  _ Damn _ . Sighing, he dropped his pants onto the floor and leaned back against the washing machine.  _ So much for that idea _ .

Yet he'd already gotten the machine started, and it seemed a waste not to put it to use. That's when he saw Símon's hamper in the corner.

After everything the Italian had done for him, washing his laundry would be the least Aidan could do in return. And, with any luck, he’d manage to kill a little extra time in the process. With a renewed sense of purpose, the dancer set to work loading Símon's dirty clothes (though, compared to the usual state of what he wore himself, Aidan wouldn't have called them that) into the water and set the timer. Now, he just had to wait.

Several moments later found him lounging on the living room sofa, once again flipping through the pages of Símon's biology textbook. He really did find the chapter on sex and reproduction mildly entertaining, but the boy needed some real porn. If that college of his wasn't supplying, maybe Aidan could get a couple of magazines from the other dancers at work, give them to Ze as a thank you gift. Or simply for his own amusement, whichever it turned out to be.

Time passed more quickly once he picked up the book, and before long the timer on the washing machine announced that clothes were ready to be moved to the dryer. As he made his way through the kitchen, he felt a slight sense of accomplishment at having managed to wash an entire load of clothes without blowing off a side of the house, or turning the place into a giant bubble bath. For a fleeting second, the thought crossed his mind that Símon might even be proud of him, too - and  _ that _ had a genuine smile playing on his lip all the way to the laundry room.

Of course, the sight when he opened the lid of the washing machine and peered inside wiped the expression clean off his face. 

_ Oh, no _ .

He reached inside and pulled out the first thing his fingers landed on. 

Scratch that. _ Oh, shit _ .

A shirt dangled from his hand, still damp and clinging to itself as if trying to hide its hideous appearance from the world. It was  _ pink _ . The ugliest, most unnatural shade of pink Aidan had ever seen. He could have sworn it was white when he'd dumped it in, though. Frantically, he tossed it aside and reached back into the machine, this time withdrawing a lone sock.

He let out a groan. It, too, looked like something out of a ten-year-old boy's worst nightmare. In fact, every piece of clothing that had once been white now shared the same revolting, pink fate. 

Panic raced through his veins. How was he supposed to fix this?  _ Could _ he even fix it? What had gone wrong in the first place? He snatched up the detergent bottle and quickly scanned the back label, hoping to find some explanation for why half of Símon's laundry now lay ruined in the bottom of the washing machine. No, he hadn't added too much softener, no, of course he hadn't used dye. Wait. What was that about separating the colors...?

Well,  _ fuck _ . 

Sneering at the bottle for waiting until now to tell him, he none-too-gently set it back on top of the machine and groaned.  _ Way to go, Aidy. The guy takes you into his home, cooks you eggs for breakfast, and you repay him by destroying his clothes. Real sweet. _

There was no point in trying to call Símon at school to try and explain what had happened. Now that he at least knew the cause of the problem, he would just wait until the Italian came home on his lunch break, then offer whatever meager apologies he could and hope he hadn't already used up all of his Second Chance tokens. 

He let out a heavy sigh. He had a feeling that, by the end of the day, he'd be ready for much more than just one good drink. 

The kitchen clock informed him there were still three and a half hours until Símon got back, so after tossing the hideous clothing in the dryer (he at least wanted to say he'd finished the job), Aidan resigned himself to the living room couch and tried his hardest not to touch anything else. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is highly appreciated!!! This is a work in progress and extremely close to my heart, so even a short comment would be very helpful!!


End file.
